Passing through mists ,travelled he deeper into abyss,
Loosing all beliefs ,discovered he the myths.
Situated there the tremendous oak, whose branches laid broke.
Shrouded was every nook, Unbelievable was the look.
To cover the labyrinth, the aim of the oak.

Twenty year old heavenly tree, with no fruit to see.
No bird near it to nap, as it was nothing ,but a trap.
It stood tall with no weight, a husk which gave; no aid.
No shade, no seed, no flower, no feed,
A hollow disingenuous tree, stretching through routes; as it felt free.

‘Never to leave the labyrinth’, was the destiny of the folk.
As beyond the ground, laid a dozen dead folk.
Despised the oak of, the spreading truth.
“Death to doves, who threaten my youth".
Folks believed of changing season,
Hoped men for fruits from the ‘oak of reason’.

Maintained the oak, all they could.
Stacked they chambers, for all they could.
For all they wanted were changing times,
But all they could were changing tiles.

As times changed, and the labyrinth caved.
The new order was played by, plain old slaves.
They called him ‘the oak’, “the protector” they say,
But peel the bark away , and he is rotten as decay.
Crows around, enforced to the ground,
Worked crows for new lords, among new laws.  

So called men of holy faith, nothing but folks of hollow faith.
Protected men, the oak from nesting doves,
Promised men it caused “harming sprouts”,
But it just made nestling doubts.

Flying through labyrinth, away from the abyss.
Losing all beliefs, discovered the dove ‘true’ myths.
Situated there the colossal gate,
Of which locks laid in a destructive state.
Shrouded was every nook, Unbelievable was the look.
To escape the labyrinth, was the aim of the dove.

By Imran Ahmed

A Man Runs Wild Fierce And Proud
Head Held High Lost In The Crowd,

Chasing Dreams Too Far To Hold
Like Rain That Slips Through Fingers Cold,

A Dog Behind A Moving Wheel
Blind To Truth Deaf To Appeal,

It Runs And Runs But All In Vain
The Chase Is Endless Filled With Pain,

Some Roads Lead Nowhere Yet We Fight
Some Battles Fade Into The Night,

Oh Stubborn Heart Let Wisdom Grow
Not Every Wind Is Meant To Blow,

For What Is Ours Will Find Its Way
And What Is Lost Was Never Meant To Stay.

It's unbearable to hear the blind speak of light
Or the dead teaching the dead how to live
And liars affirming liars with yet more lies
But alas inescapable is this babelic cacophony
I run, far into the wilderness, but woe upon me clings
Thus I close my eyes, shut my ears, seal my tongue
Wrap myself in the dark depths of desolation
And like the dead, slip into the silence of the void

“Another night in London; I’m alone again.
He’s out there somewhere thinking of me
Or maybe someone else.
Come stand next to me,
Pour yourself some virtual tea.
I’m sitting in the garden waiting,
Waiting for you to convict yourself
Sitting here, loving him and hating you,
You who thought only of yourself.
I loathe you, but I must please you,
Must outwit you to save him
How does it feel, now you’ve enslaved him?

“I take you both back to our sitting room to sort
It out. Say it’s a domestic but we know that’s rot.
We sit across from each other, he’s silent;
I am not. I analyse your past, the lives you took
And you stare at me with a killer’s face,
Your hooded eyes and rubber mouth,
With its fake smile relishing death.

“You know I know the real you,
But he must too.
Can he forgive you?
He must do it or
One of us will once again
Be shot through by you!
Which of us will it be?

“But this is just a calculated pause,
In a long con; do you realize
How close you came to ending up in a box?
You aren’t the only killer in town.
You have angered others beside me;
If my brother could howl, he would have;
He just sneers and has you followed and
Every move you make is being trapped.
Your dowdy clothes fool don’t me now,
Since I remember your assassin’s gear,
So clearly, just before you shot me.
And I know you weren’t just being nice,
No pistol could be that precise.
But now the question comes:
I give you the choice I never had:
Do you want to live or die?
Your husband won’t want you dead but I…”

She stares him, black defiant eyes,
He marks the seconds with fibrillating heart
He has never known her, from the start,
Do killers possess some hidden cloak
Like his lover’s naked mask?
Her theory of self-portrait disguises
Leads him to a sudden change of plan
“Why didn’t you come to me for help?”
He had forgot how well he lies.
And he sees that she knows it in her eyes.
There is only one solution for both.

Sojou-
rning, sco-
rnfully, to J-
upiter's red s-
***. The circu-
lar, scarlet rage,
it, roundly, and, r-
ubily, rotates, into
whirlwinds, of ste-
aming, magma, hot.
The firef-lies, lay, t-
heir eggs, in; truth,
and, hope, that, d-
eceptions, hatch.
The batches, fl-
y, never, brou-
ght to, light.
Oppressi-
vely, the-
y, stay.

© poormansdreams

In the shadows deep, a hidden self resides,
Shadowy moments, secrets carefully hide.
Masks conceal, terrible, masterful deceit,
Hiding desires that hopelessly tear the soul apart.

Each stolen glance, stories endlessly untold,
Understanding fully the consequences, remained ruthlessly uncontrolled.
Embroidered shadows, i dance through the night,
Soul aflame that seeks freedom and its light.

Secrets unfold, longing leaves for peace,
Quiet nights, where mystery shadows cease.
New pathways unfurl, dawn ascends, a radiant light, dispelling night's despair.
Hope's strength sustains me; I step towards soaring heights.

Trapped within shadows, as I cast off the disguise,
Facing endless fears, with courage in my eyes.
Freedom awaits, reaching beyond the crafted scene, revealing its embrace.
Constraint Path, yet mysteries still remain, a mystifying presence.

Whispers of doubt, an insidious refrain.
The weight of the past, never-ending ache.
Devastating reminder, for goodness sake,
As Overwhelming loneliness creeps in, stealing the day.

The masks fall, after a long day of charades,
The freedom sought, tragically feels distant and far.
The cruel illusion, leaving hideous scars.
With cunning hand, he builds enigmas that are hard to find.

Concealed within that emptiness, darkness springs.
Their arrangements symphony, the instruments, played at his own will alone.
Threads of silken fate, a tapestry completed.
Chess master strategist, emotionless with cold and calculating mind.

With deep calculations, strategist orchestrates every move.
Checkmate is now declared, the final game is at an end.
For endless nights, the game continues.
That even resigned on his power, he was trapped within a dream.

In this ceaseless, darkly deceptive game, a bitter truth appears.
That even in my invincible mastery, i'm utterly empty.
Weights of countless broken hearts, never easily forgiven, and burdens that are hard to bear.
Archon's orchestra fades, but the echoes remain.. does he hear them? or devoid of shame?
The nefarious price of power, is the wearing of many masks.


Do we deeply, truly know who we are, or are we forever lost in the labyrinth of masks we create to hide our true selves from the judgment of others?