Multiple paths that can carry.
Painful, difficult to the mind.
Almost permanent quandary.
Never gentle and never kind,
As the vision becomes blurry
Against hot water that flows behind.
Blocked paths through the giant, green maze
In the dark, lone and chilling night.
Through the seasons and all the days,
The path grows narrower and tight.
"It's the other way," the voice says.
More voices might join in, they might.
If only there was one way out
Without this wandering about
With the compass not going south.
It's truly bad when you've been here
For a long time. When you can't see
Anything without the deep fear
That you'll just go back and then see
Nothing near to logic, not near.
As the far, gentle sunshines slant,
Just accept that you will be here.
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