They chase the straight and narrow path,
A line from birth to tomb.
Blindfolded by the myth of math,
That life’s a goal, not room.

They measure steps and chart the skies,
As if the stars align.
For those who fear what truth belies,
That chaos is divine.

I’d rather dance through winding walls,
Where every twist reveals,
A deeper voice that softly calls,
Beneath the turning wheels.

Let others chase the final frame,
The scoreboard or the prize.
I court the dark, I kiss the flame,
Where every answer dies.

The maze is home, the dead ends sing,
Of things not meant to know.
And joy’s not in the conquering,
But getting lost below.

Each circle I mistake for square,
Each shadow I befriend,
Is sweeter than a perfect prayer,
That’s hurried to the end.

So mock my path, go walk your line,
Your purpose plain and proud.
While I explore the undefined,
With questions speaking loud.

For freedom isn’t reaching there,
It’s never being done.
It’s building temples out of air,
And running just for fun.