The Labyrinth

jcdb (1)

“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great. You have no power over me.” ~ Sarah / The Labyrinth 

The labyrinth lies before you in the dove greyness
beckoning 
luring you with its mourning calls
the only light to guide your steps is a crimson glow
coming from everywhere and nowhere
three lullabies in an ancient language serve as password to get through the iron gates
that hang in dread metallic malice
across the blasted stone hallway
what has been hidden is best concealed in the forgotten place
the place of endless turnings
where it gleams like a pale jewel
waiting for you
there is madness upon the air you can scent it like a doe
and though a veil flutters across your eyes and voices whisper of silent contemplation and rest
you must stay your trembling and command your limbs to move
for in truth you’ll find no rest here
only fading and forgetfulness
and a last dance playing over and over in a sad ballroom
power given and power taken
the scales must tip
and only belief and oaken will can weight them
the one who stands firm
defying the puppetmaster
refusing to dance at his bidding
however gentle the strings
will walk back out those iron gates
the oubliettes pale treasure ransomed
while the same music still plays in the sad ballroom
it no longer has power over you

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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