South lies this disturbed soul,
gazing high at the north star,
as the white ball rises at the east,
west receiving the descending red.
Trapped at the center of the maze,
holding a compass passed from generations,
searching for a side to take,
for a direction to head, for a pillar to lean against.
What sight lies ahead-
mirrors the confusion playing within,
the maniac with two heads, a mad-hatter beheaded,
the mind-inside twisting,
hallucinations for paradise created.
Conscious, unconscious, deliberate, facade,
what is it the I desire, what is the fate,
desperation of peace welcomes belief,
I place the needle at the rostrum and pray.
Pray for answers, for the words I seek,
heeding them like a puppet,
string straight around the cervix.
Was it Cupid, or was it Athena, the arrow that pierced me
or was another figment of imagination- I manipulate.
The compass showed the needle,
right against my heart so weak,
what is it that I shall find,
it that attic full of broken dreams.