The Pen and The Wind

The writings and musings of a windswept soul.
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I sit in a center room, 
With miles of maze sprawled in front of me,
The ever shifting walls and paths,
Make it impossible to escape,
So I must sit,
And wait,
And wait,
And wait,
I’m going mad from the waiting,
Each hour takes a chunk out of my sanity,
Tarnishing myself in the stagnant air,
Driving another nail into my flesh,
And yet I still must wait,
I must wait for someone,
To come and find me,
I can’t escape from the labyrinth,
So I rely on others, 
Others who never come,
They either turn at first sight of the maze,
Or turn back when they grow tired,
And yet I still have to wait,
For one to cross the threshold into my cell,
Hoping I am not so disappointing a prize,
That they’d leave me there,
To rot and rust away,
And wait,
And wait,
And wait,
Until salvation,
Or death.  

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