MINOTAURS PRAYERS

Thou art my mother, the lustful muck, or the graceful

earth?
The tranquil heavens or voracious hell wished to give me
birth?
My confused scythe sought answers while I buried
remembrance,
Systolic beats ike frozen fear- desire for still, enhanced.

Neither the wild, nor the dainty, enveloped my dreams,

A blend of existence, my heart-- the sighs of a holy grim,
Ripped creations, condensed voids, just to find a
meaning,
Where my entirety lay-stood tall in light? Or in dark was
kneeling?

The concrete maze which collapsed my diffused

stochasticity,
Brought solace in confinement, though secured
vulnerability,
But when blades of Theseus touched my wish,
pierced through my screaming cells,
I prayed my first, Let no Minotaur be born,

yet knew, my prayers destined to fail.