A tapestry of my life
Full of suffering and strife,

Of love and kisses
And the best kind of wishes.

Threads of blacks and blues –
A rainbow of multi-coloured hues.

A thread is the only staple
And completely incapable

Of describing this world, these emotions –
All the tossing inner oceans.

The ****** and crinkle of tinsel-wrapped trinkets,
The colour of the rainbow, caressing the cataracts
Of milky sightless eyes.
Trinkets that glisten and glimmer,
Shining with promises of sweet delight.
****** aromas of vanilla and cinnamon,
Forever false, forever deceitful.
Molten chocolate, flowing and folding,
Fills the mouth with its delectable lusciousness
But it is nothing ashes.
And these ashes fill the mind and body
With doubts and fears and disgust,
Crippling, desensitizing,
Leaving the soul empty, a void.
Still the wrappers build up around me.

A black hole uninhabited by the living.

A spiral, a hurricane, a tornado: a death.
A loss of everything, a void devoid of light,
A sense of falling permeates the hole
Yet all is still unmoving, unchanging.

I wrote a poem today,
Expressing fears, doubts unhappiness.
Strange that these words never
Leap from page to mouth,
Even among the closest friends.
In the wide universe, the grand expanse of time,
The life we live with 6 billion seeking souls;
Can I really call myself alone?

Do you see me,
Or look right through me?
Am I your looking glass,
Your only way to see better grass?

I feel so used
Completely abused.
You are alone,
I am forever on my own.

You ask for sympathy
Aware of my over-flowing empathy.
You cannot see past your face.
How would you fell if you took my place?

But just as one predicted,
I am hopelessly addicted.
I can't let go of this pain
All of this has been in vain.

Who ever said love
Was a gentle as a dove
Never heard your voice
And always had a choice.

It breathes.
The centre is a heart, beating, pulsing, living.
I cannot find my way.

It shifts.
The movement confuses me, bending, twisting, changing.
My mind is uncertain.

It deceives.
I search because I am lost,
I am lost because I search.

To find what?

Myself.

My soul and my identity are calling, beckoning, luring.
I am afraid of what I will find.

The helping hands.
One my sage, the other my compatriot, smiling, listening, encouraging.

I know I must walk alone.
It knows.

For I am the maze,
And the maze is me.