I am waiting for realization
Sitting on the precipice
Of some formation
I can’t feel a moments peace
Because context it eludes me
I must chase my playful bride
From a sense of symmetry
I fashion signposts to serve as guide
As I meander through the chambers
Of the Minotaur
With Ariadne’s thread
The sketches on these papers
The fall of line
The spill of ink
Ties up in the divine
Or so I like to think
And if its all but a fever
A dream of longing fools
I will never be a griever
For I’ve known such subtle pulls
