The Maze is Deep
Into the new matter of trace
Into the new matter of trace
Would be the first gatherings
To be perhaps the wood
Opposed to the ways
Should the laps find its’ pace
Could some flapping of the wings sway
Drag from the sampling, customized grey
Lay out the flags, snagging each prize, every flake
Where the shaken lips speak, entangling aches
There to tighten the grips of the weak shall awake
Flared to enlighten the dips into these creeks make
Hate the battle, not the cause, for it leads many to break
Take the rattle of the loss after one's own surrender
In case the tales get trapped and dissolved, never remember.