Labyrinth

Dark reality is still nipping at the lungs of
seldom expressed passion.
A power struggle, of course.
A power hunger.

It is a simple belief that escape is possible.
Run quickly and maybe
it won’t catch on.
Scream loudly and maybe
help will come for you.
Maybe nothing will happen.

The clean reference of a Dark Passion Play
is as eluding to the mind as the
Play itself.
The real still foreshadows the hoped for
and the hoped for remains fantasy.
A Dark Passion Play, of course,
but a power struggle still.

There is no left and right,
no back and forth,
Simply Left,
Or Right.
Simply Back,
Or Forth.
Simply standing in the same fork in the road
Each day.
But which to choose?

Can you hear it?
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock
Tick
Time
is running out.
Choose.

Run left, than right.
Run back, then forth.
Scream.
Wail.
Decompose.

A power struggle, you see.
A decomposition of your internal compass
until there is no compass,
not even the slightest myth of a compass,
because bards typically have lips by which to share.

A Dark Passion Play begins tonight,
and the script you thought you knew,
has yet to exist.