Labyrinth.
Golems ride a lonely wall
waiting for you to clatter by.
There is a silence of intention
congealing along the rock joints,
becoming a mosaic of godot
in this morning light.
There are rumours that giants
turn to children when they are
kissed, but this is not your moment,
and these men are naught but
soldiers whose orders give no leave.
Your path does not meander through
the grove of desert these golems idle
inside, but skirts the trees of a forest.
That you can’t quite see
there is something in being someone
who cannot but follow the order
of men and fate roiling at the feet
of destiny
is nothing but honesty.
AN: This is a working progress and all commentary is very appreciated. Thank you for taking the time to look at my work. Edit: This is not a Labyrinth only poem, please take it further if you wish!
