The Labyrinth
At last, I am a mass of what I am:
A honey bee inside its labyrinth lair
Lost in transcendental dance,
As lattice vines in labyrinth affair
Snared in serpentine romance,
The steps ascend into a labyrinth stair,
A mass of what I am, but less of me:
Diluted is the man of labyrinth form
Who pursues society,
As words of old announce their labyrinth lore
In a voice of burgundy,
The maize transforms into a labyrinth corn,
Rejoice! And lose yourself in search divine—
A mass of what I am, no longer mine!
The river weeps into the labyrinth sea
For the taste and privilege of brine!
As mercenary seconds march to die
For the labyrinth cause of father time!
Beliefs forgotten in the labyrinth creed,
At last, I am a labyrinth mass of what I am—
And never will I be myself again.