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I am waiting for realization

Sitting on the precipice

Of some formation

I can’t feel a moments peace

Because context it eludes me

I must chase my playful bride

From a sense of symmetry

I fashion signposts to serve as guide

As I meander through the chambers

Of the Minotaur

With Ariadne’s thread

 The sketches on these papers

The fall of line

The spill of ink

Ties up in the divine

Or so I like to think

And if its all but a fever

A dream of longing fools

I will never be a griever

For I’ve known such subtle pulls