As delicate as doom the imagination flutters
in a closed space where strange aliens
hobbits and men with muscular women
inhabit caves with endless tunnels
travelling from one end to the other.  
Stop I must in this vaporous realm
unable to struggle free, trapped

Who am I that waits for the eternal
longing to come full cycle, take me into
its open arms and surround me
in delicate gossamer finery
silk brocade and lace, vague eyes,
strong faces. blue venom
bursting as I scamper into the undergrowth

unafraid of demons and spirits
evil or splendorous  beings, cascading
through the nightmares of knowing
that every journey must meet Olympus
and Greek gods like Minotaur's
carry the golden fleece to us mere mortals
escaping the claustrophobia
social norms
even as we tumble into the dead
end of a never ending roadway of rules.

Author Notes

Abstract and inescapable. At times it feels like this when you cannot do what you really want to do. Escape.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved, a month ago