Ariadne's Thread

Situation

To remember, this world, in time

shame is but a rhyme, where, i am held

or, rather, should i, be, holding myself, in

but there is another time, where all this uncertainty

could mean less, to even me, or one who

begins to think, as in ponder, the worldly events

hovering around my head, as i dare you, one who is

less often, to speak, or try, once again, to reason

beyond this, with certainty brimming on the outside

down the middle does she pour

and take my thoughts away, the torture, the world

right of left, in a situation where, we can simply speak

to calm down our nerves, only to sit, under a dim light

i would want, to desire, only to catch your ideas

popping around whatever conversation we can piece together

as we nervously dance to and from, forth and out

to the inside from the beginning, hand and hand, or lest we feel

so full of doubt that we hold, again, the feelings, or understandings

we know, of ourselves, but dare we share, with, each other

on this night, with a kiss, or a long day's good night

shall, then, would we, dance, for the first time

only would i, for, i must no longer live, uncertain

or beneath myself, as feelings, nature blazing within, are not

what most, channel into, a job, or of the sort

i must, move, a situation, upstairs, down the curtain, tear

to wake up, as the sunlight touches the earth

to gaze upon what i see in you, must i confide in only my friends

since it is you, i want to explore, her words, her hair

what is yet unseen, or to others, unclear, but shadows speak symphonies

to my ears, where to others, hidden, buried, though to mine, unearthed

i can hear something, although, my mind cannot for exactly be

understood, into these feelings, riddled in a maze built of thyme

so, do i roam, amidst the forest green, and kettle black

down into, so many different shades, in my own mind, where

i am searching for answers, there is none of the kind

only will a conversation, other than that, of myself, imagining

with you, will the truth become clear, i can say

that i am, so afraid, of losing these feelings, will i be the same

again, and again, dividing myself, down roses made of clovers

down rows of black blood bushes, and times of battle water hazes

past this, must i, seek salvation, other wise, will i find my future, always

written with the present as blood is red, to the past, where i must learn

as my history is now dead, so shall, i leave him, a past, behind

so that i might forge ahead, without or without her, next to me