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I flirt with forms ever flaunting forth, teasing of feasibility

They shirk and taunt atop inertious font, seizing me forcefully.

Let go, I plead.  I find you overwhelming, of you no sensible thing can I find.

Asserting from indwelling, destined to bleed up under the spelling,
I shall do whatsoever I wish, was replied.

Woe is me!  A pitiful, pregnant, crazy man, lost in a Labrynth of his own mind.

Perhaps I might delight in the dark, as was before the days when my soul so starkly stood intertwined.

Failing to consider the validity of a light so bitter,
fretfully I confess this hope to be misaligned.

Frantic and frenzied both rancid and envied I pilfer the path of pious mediocrity seeking ascension only to find pitfalls.

Chasing magic rabbits back in time, up the latter, through the line, down the matter

Forward toward the mysterious voice that still calls.