shattered memories that, drifting through the mist of the night, make sounds like glass scraping steel,
and with blood drops landing upon the fractured surfaces making the noise of bombs dropped from space,
all form a hectic maze that one would be a fool to try and traverse through it.
the sharp corners and jagged points tear and scrape, and the rifts throughout that lead into a void,
the many hazards of the echoing maddening sounds of lives left through time to wander,
jumping through hoops, only to see the loops are forming in this labyrinth; no hope of escape.
Taken from a bird’s view seems like the wonderful stained glass at notre dame, shining light backlit from below,
the fires of hell or the light of heaven from which perspective you outside onlookers take.
Do you see many a fool traipsing about like lunatics howling at the moon, every night they wander
and squander their meager lives dangerously trying to seek out a fragment or a figment,
Or does the light shine through the glass and cast a silhouette upon souls looking for, through all this agony and hurt,
the same shining brilliance that their hearts, blood pumping and beating, match the tones that music makes?
What then of the observers, what then would you be called? Too afraid to jump into the maze, or tired of being lost?
Do you decide to see through it’s bloodied mirrors the lament of others, whimsy guiding you to mock at their folly,
or do your eyes take to the skies with a glance to see where these lost lambs are headed, and track down the most expedient path?
Harken back to the days of old, when old man laughed with the gods of gold.
When then delighted by this sight would cast a terrible eye.
The ties that bound these beings thus would be severed by a fateful discuss.
The tempting of wit and knowledge gained would lead to paradise drained.
Battering winds and rising tides shake and rumble the ever-moving maze
it’s very foundation a bitter cast of the feelings that are felt, lost, and imagined.
Why then would some choose to walk through the maze, hot coals and splintering spikes stabbing and lethargic?
Even the air is anesthetic.
But an aesthetic approach to this puzzle leads to philosophical quandry:
“Who put this here, and why here at all?”
A sign, signaling to others.
A beacon cast against the night.
A welcoming smile.
A bitter embrace.
Save for the everyman that walks and wanders lost,
that through this maze, splendor and delight at all obstacles and puzzles it presents,
through all the attempts, at each act of selfless selfishness, they through themselves headlong into it’s corridors,
for this is what we all do, regardless of awareness; we wander a maze made of our own design.
It’s similarities shared and thus the maze a human complex, all manners of man and woman walking along.
specters and shades bumping through each other, for a single objective:
to reach the end of an endless maze.
With.
or without.
another
