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Julian Caleb Aug 3
running into the ancient stone,
going straight with every curves.
obfuscating thy own desired path,
look straight forward—
there’s no going back.

blinded by the beddazling darkness,
as it striked my body and soul,
no escape, just let it go!

trapped.
tangled.
emmeshed.
labyrinth
The key was found and door was open.
Next level of the labyrinth.
Huh, *** it wasn't easy.
Huh, huh who said it will?
For everything need a time...
Don't give up...
Jonathan Moya Jun 19
Icarus’ sister exists only in living stone,
the watchful daughter of the craftsman
in the middle of his own labyrinth,
once his prized creation, placed in
the prime line of his drafts, design, eye
of his genius, now a relic existing
in a dusty nowhere cobweb corner
stained with Minotaur blood,
watching her fleshy father
falteringly stitch wax, feathers, twigs
to a frame that could not
take the water and sun of every day birds,
not even the weight of a son’s pride
who complacently raveled and unraveled
his father’s clew, half hearing  cautions,  
his mind flapping beyond the planets.

She cried over how Daedalus could
dote over such mortal error
while she exists in perfect neglect,
cried a tear turned prayer that
mixed with the dust, the murderous
blood crusting the rusty teeth of Perdix’s saw,
knowing hence  that men **** their best dreams,
fear the successful  flight of  their ideas, and  
that her faith, trust now forever lived with the gods.

Hephaestus heard her and bellowed her mind,
taught her to seek inspiration in the rejected
metal slivers that littered the workshop
like the sand of Naxos where Theseus
left Ariadne in her abandoned dreams.

In the cry of that other lost daughter
she heard the sound of ascent,
saw father and son in erratic flight
and followed to the top of the labyrinth
to watch two glints align in descent
and one splash into the sea.

Graced with the knowledge
that forbearers would
name the waters below for this fool,
she deposited Icarus in their father’s arms,
and flew away on brass wings of her own design,
wingtips skipping waves, seeking the sun.
Is the meaning of life to find the Great Perhaps?
Is the Great Perhaps - we shouldn't get lost in this Labyrinth?
Looking For Alaska is a beautiful must read by John Green. It made me question what the meaning of my life really is.
Em Apr 17
The depths
of nothing
rise and fall
creating tones
unknowable
to the human ear
invisible
to the eye
Creating a labyrinth
to confuse her
to evoke feelings in her
to make her revoke those feelings
and crush them into nothing
to be plunged into the depths
And become the depths themselves.
i made this up as i go (as i normally do ahfajfgh)
help me im bored
im procrastinating
aeri izzy Mar 20
what's to find in this labyrinth
how to move with the flow
too much mist and identical plinths
no Adrian's string glow
no scent of hyacinths
is a pathway ever gonna show!
suddenly represent itself and meet her gaze!
and will it matter if it's spacious or narrow?
perhaps she's enjoying this state of maze
or maybe it's denial and ache for the afterglow..
Invisible Mar 15
There's no escape
From the prison that I made

It's in my own head
Just like that monster under the bed

I've got a maze for a mind
My mind is a maze

I don't know what you'll find
But you'll never find it again

It's so easy to get lost in the dark
When you don't have a light

I can't find my way out
I can barely put up a fight

I can't think with my head
I can't feel with my heart

I locked myself in
Yet I'm miles afar
How I feel about my head. It's a maze that I am trapped in. People can come and go, but I can never leave.
Which is quite unfortunate.
Star BG Mar 5
In labyrinth of words I move,
jumping in a writer grove.
Lines of verse plant in my brain.
Sometimes, I do go insane.

With the chatter that I hear.
always sensing a poem near.
So I ground to write in day.
with phases I now will play.

Crazy no I’m just a sage,  
as I scribe on writers stage.
Star of self I share this day,
as I bow to all and pray.

That you visit labyrinth too.
Finding words its what to do.
Cause time is a gift you see
when one writes they are set free.
inspired by μπλε  a gifted poet.
Peter Balkus Mar 1
Labyrinth of life
has only one exit:
through its entrance.
awknight Feb 4
Fear lingers the air
A rush of emotions
unprepared
my guard was down
safety in the plush maroon
blanket shrouding my tear-filled face.

I have begun to escape the bliss
I have seen the bad in myself
I have seen that you see them too

I am no longer the epitome of your
perfection, you scrape across me
with your saddened eyes

You see the flaws I let seep from my shell
The labyrinth of my mind invited you in
but you got lost
slamming against the walls
an anger is misunderstanding
an angst in the unknown

I wish I could calm the tempest
that has found home in your temples
veins arise in anger and lack of oxygen

my dear, I used to be your breath of fresh air
now I am toxic waste
flooding your system
only to drown you in the short comings of
me.
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