The cycle of confusion

In the midst of a storm
Lays a calm, an oasis 
Of clarity and peace

The aftermath 
Can perhaps seem dismal 
The damage done, beyond belief 

Even though it looks bad
The fact is that
It can be fixed

With hard work
And the preferred 
Detachment 

The thoughts rear their head
In my bed when asleep 
I wake up to the storm

The aftermath 
Is a path of confusion 
Undignified and forlorn

But it can be fixed 
And the trick is simple

Ignorance is bliss 
Until the trick 

Fails to keep working. 
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