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.
Feb 18, 2012
Feb 18, 2012 at 12:36 PM UTC
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.
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