Werewolf keenly watching,
as dolls were branded blind,
with resurrection pending;
heartbreak was sublime.

Scorpion in scatterings,
witches with their spells,
hunted through eternity;
ear no sound could quell.

Alone the demon hunted,
through corridors of mind,
ball of hope sent spinning;
no outcome was defined.

In halls of deep imagining,
psyche trailed a thread,
beckoned soul to follow;
grief’s labyrinth now left.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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1 Response to Labyrinth

  1. Sabra Bowers says:

    Well wordled. I like the rhythm in your poem.

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