A poet came to my english class and we had a prompt to write about a labrynth and not being allowed to take your pen off of the paper.
This is what I wrote without revision. I invite you to try the same. I had 10 minutes to write.
Out of the labrynth, how did I come,
from where did I stray from the path of the light?
What is that sound, that noise that is haunting,
from what does such uttered daunting spells be birthed?
I came from the left, no the right , no from behind,
I'll turn about for hours from my blindness.
There, I see a familiar mark, yes this crech in the wall,
I know where I've come from, go left then go right.
I've been at this for hours, lost succumbing deeper unto darkness.
Oh how could this happen, I'd been so true thus far.
It's darker, and colder, my soul cries for mercy,
a cackle is echoed, an I'm defied by my legs.
I'm sure I can find my way out from this terror,
being lost into this labrynth is nothing I should be afraid of.
Is this the door? What is this I've found,
the etchings upon it resound that of Dante.
A sorrowful force beneath cryptic words describing and uncordial affair that
might be ill of timing.
My hand, soft pale to it's abysmal angry hue,
feels fire beneath while I cradle the knob.
My head says to hide, to evacuate my position,
but some violent lust compells me to sell my final morals.
I mustn't submit, I cannot lose control. Id to my Ego must lose battle to Super
"Become a lost soul, your path has been laid,
do not fight that you're well on your way into darkness."
I resist, and suddenly, there down the hall, I see refracting lights highlighting escape.
That errie voice cries, demanding my back
and I say unto him
"I will see you later."