To winding road I asked again,
“Where did your journey begin?”
It just kept quiet,as if to mean
It didn’t get the crux of my concern!
I asked Where does it  all ends ?
That too met with a stony silence,
Making me meditate in loneliness .
Silence has quicksilver toungue,
I walked through inner labyrinths
And the question echoed in turns,
Then in me dawned as a whisper
“Real story of the road of course isn’t about just  begiinnings and ends”
The wish to get it limited, is the
Distorted imagination of humans!
I am having a journey eventful,
But have a problem to determine
The starting and end points!
When you are certain of a finis,
There appears yet another beginning!
A road never leaves for anywhere
All you do is pass on through it.
In a mood to go and find
To the abode of immortality the final destination!
They are different every night.
Some are rough and greedy, pulling my flesh into their lust,
Others caress my emptiness while gasping their need into my swollen lips.
A palette of soulful browns, icy blues and wistful greens stare into my...well I think they call it a soul, I wouldn't know anymore.
My nails trace a labyrinth across their rippling backs, a desperate attempt to trap my racing mind in each nights inescapable maze.
Maybe tonight one of them will follow the red thread of blood I carved out of them and become my... what was his name again. Hercules? Max? Theseus? George? Achilles? Jens?
It doesn't really matter anyway, they will be gone in the morning.
They will leave and that empty, cold void that you left in the bed next to me will still be there.
The ghost of your kiss will still linger beneath the bruises on my neck.
You will still be gone and I will still be empty.
They are different every night but they all fail in the same way.
They will never be you.
First draft of something very real to me right now.
Wandering this dark forest with no guide
Figuring out the labyrinth of the my feeble mind
Evading the sun for melted wax leads to a salty tide
To rejoin the stars so I too can shine
KAE Jun 8
He told me once: “I would like to enter your mind”.
Darling, you don’t know what you’re saying.
The first time you enter, you will never be able to leave again. It’s a labyrinth with no way out.
Also, you are going to be afraid about all of my darkest secrets.
You will want to run away but you can not.
Dear Death,
It seems as if everyone holds a grudge against you.
You have taken someone from everyone.
You have even taken everyone from someone.
Some threads you cut short.
Others evade your fatal scissors for longer.
But everyone's thread demands to be severed.
But I wonder if you are only doing your masters bidding?
Are you just a puppet on strings?
A thread yourself, to be maneuvered freely into a tapestry by a higher master?
Being blamed,
just for following orders?
It's like punishing the soldier for the general's war crimes.
Or are you the puppetmaster?
The keeper of all of the strings?
Do you control the balance of the universe?
Do you send the demons to do your bidding, or do you do the demons work?
There is so much that is unknown about you.
We talk about you like we have solved your puzzle,
but you are a labyrinth,
I hope one day we can appreciate your mystery.

Sincerest regards,
Death has taken, taken, taken. Death takes, takes, takes. But do we really know why?
Devin Ortiz May 4
The world falls apart at the fringes.
Reset. Bright light. Mind wipe.
Later, some time much later.
I have forgotten it all.
Only to remember.
A cycle of breaking amd mending.
A cycle of failing and reseting.
The rumble of worlds turn over,
More times than I'd know.
I feel the tremors, delusions or not.
But the heart of this problem.
The meat of it all.
Is this damned door.
It's weathered, worn,
But resistant to time and change.
Beneath the creases of its ironwood,
Darkness screams forward.
Calling, crawling closer to me.
Later, some time later.
I remember, I open the door.
The Pandora's Box of mind.
My world crumbles, white blind,
Ashley Mar 24
Everyday caught
In the labyrinth of mind,
I am,
Where dreams,
And desires
And lust,
From nothing
Conspire something.

Destination: Canada Water.
The next station is Surrey Quays.
Doors will open on the right-hand side.
Exit here for Goldsmith's College.

In the cerebellum
Fragments flash cerebrum bright:
Wheels in tunnels burn,
A neural screech amplified deep,
As waves of electrons churn,
And in multiple places keep.

This stop:
- My birth -
Is in Westminster!

It’s time:

Do you love me?
          Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).

In the space-time continuum,
The labyrinth is forever,
Within a fourth dimension.

It’s time …

You love me, right?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).


Lost in the labyrinth: a journey to an exit.
The Overground train pulls!
And from floor to ceiling,
Between vertical orange pins,
A medley of languid listless limbs lulls,
       Seated hips,
       Angled legs,
       Dangling feet,
And neck-less heads,
Lost, ghoul-like,
The disconcerted move doggedly on,
Everywhere somewhere; but forever nowhere
Through London's hills and bogs.

From  STOP to STOP,
In the labyrinthine network,
In tubes splayed out on cubes,
Of bright brushed viscose comfort,
Overhead, the ads exhort:

       Top Up Your Soul,
       Fast Forward Your Escape

Like these,
A hundred escalating messages,
Each more insistent than the last,
Compel, enough to distract,
So man’s desire enslaves his heart.

Its time…

         You love, right?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).


How? Why?
Has bacterial sludge,
Built these edifices of glass and steel.
This labyrinthian cage,
Whose walls race up at the speed of light,
While the inner commuter flame gutters,
Everywher, in multiverses,
Supernovas explode in showers.
And for a moment, in the moment, The Overground chromatic glows.

New Cross Gate, Southwark, Canada Water.

Lit and digital and LCD:

A few automated steps, and:
       Green Park,
       Then Baker Street,
Appear, fade and disappear.

Now walking down Belsize Road,
On the evening of the
Super Gibbous Moon,
As it rises high over the Ziggurat dimensions of the Alexandra Estate,
And all is blood orange at dusk,
As I, a slinking silhouette,
Make for the event horizon of home,
For surely given, and taken,
A few more bends, another turn,

It’s time, again.

         Love, right?
         LOVE, RIGHT?
    Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).


To the event horizon of consciousness,
To that black hole at the core.
In death's star-like eye,
Embrace, pass through,
(Fear not),
On, through the labyrinth northward,
Entering and exiting,
We go awhile, a little longer.

Stars, my Stars,
Again, it's time.

You love me, right?
Yes, No, Ohhh (the audience).



One more stop:

       New Bond Street.


Last stop:

       No-name, this one:




     WE ARE:
Dedicated to Steven Hawking, RIP, this poem is designed to be read to a live audience. To this effect, it was performed at the Hundred Year Gallery in Hoxton, London, and has been altered considerably ahead of being performed at The Mediterranean Cafe, Berwick Street, in Soho, London. All welcome, March 28th at 7pm.
Umi Mar 12
The start is empty and dark, a realm of shadows consumes your mind, your soul and your fragile eyes with no hope for light to unfold
Try leaving the rest, or better,leave it all up to your imagination,
So you may not get lost in this loitering darkness which everlasts!
As you progress it becomes clearer, the picture begins to form alike pieces of an distorted puzzle with discord in between each of them.
When you close the door and enter once more however you will never know what you find, the image truly has corrupted itself,
This place is a secret which holds no meaning; Absolutely Undefined
A shadow can change its shape, reconstruct itself and resize too,
What you get may be what you see, though is it really what you get if you aren't able to trust your eyes through this ominous tenebrosity
A labyrinth, unhinged, seemingly endless cast away in illusion awaits those who make it through without being blinded by their eyes,
But why make progress, I will send you back to the start, empty and dark so that the joy of exploring this world of change never ends.
All or nothing, what is the goal, in this undefined loitering darkness.

~ Umi
Maverick Feb 6
Your name lingers on my mind
Like the damage done by a hurricane
And I think maybe if I use an understudy
To replace the feelings I harbored
You’ll dissipate into the sea
Instead of projecting ghosts
That do nothing but haunt me
There must be an end
To this desolate labyrinth
Where I meet you at the beginning
And start over again.
I need to go to a burning man. I need to lose myself in the woods for a year. I need to make my threshold and enter through. I heard my call a long time ago but I just never...
   I can't stand myself any longer! I must lose who I am to find what I am to become. And I can't do that in a world where I exist in everyone around me. I need a place with none of me and plenty of else. So much that I can spread myself out to one thought thick. Finally be raw, enough to see myself clearly.

   I shouldn't worry about forevers, because forevers are simply composed of nows.

   I want quiet place to sit against the tree, look out over a lake, and read until my eyes bleed pleasure, my brain secretes knowledge, and my heart wisdom.
   A place to harbor a gentle haze of mind, a place to leave myself behind. Just and think and think some more, until and passed the point of being head sore.
   I want to place with plenty of glasses, and plenty of cracks, plenty of muses and no ways back.
   A place full of forevernows and nevermores, where people are stupid enough to cross the desert because of a recurring dream. A place of pink purple sunsets and endless shores.

   How mirrors have learned to lie I will never know, because I don't recognize the person they show. I have to turn them around because even my own eyes try to deceive me.

  If I don't I will always want to. If I do I won't enjoy every step, but I will a few.
   The hands that shaped this road are now, older.
   I don't know how I will, and a not even sure I understand why I will. All I know for certain is I MUST.

   Because I can't stay here. If I do I will fall in love with possibilities, and not realities. I will fall in making people out to be more than a person. I will lose my heart to and afterimage of a dream, and even if I do I would never have pursued it anyways. I want to leave the field, sell my flock, and start my full circle, or square.
   Wherever I go I have no plan know method know fall backs, but the beautiful hair of uncut graves. With only the Spektor inside my books to hold me.
   I want to hear the symphony of stars each night and have the wind tell me its stories of its travels that day.
   I want to sleep knowing the poppies stand guard.
   I know nothing, and I'm ready to listen, but first I must get out of my hand made prison, burn the map smashed of compass. Put my feet anywhere besides in front of the other that way I'm going nowhere fast and never looking back.

   I want to teach myself the song of my soul, so that I can hum every bar by heart, but I can't do that here. Not in this place of paper people and towns who live their lives never getting wet.

   It says if I can ever catch my breath, that I'm strangle lading in the stench of mold and excitement of leaving and never coming back.

   Mark here this day, as I lie awake at night as the last moment I spent outside the labyrinth. I need, no, I must leave find a place where I can listen to my heart and drink and its wisdom. But that place is not here I don't know where to, but I must start.
   Thomas Edison last words were " its very beautiful over there, I don't know where they're is, but I believe it somewhere, & I hope it's beautiful"

                                                     ­     ~Crow
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