Illusions Within The Maze


“I have realized that the past and future are real illusions, that they exist in the present, which is what there is and all there is.”

Illusions can get the best of you, especially if you read into everything with an ounce of freedom and foresight. It’s a truly wonderful experience, to have that sensation of communication, but you must ask yourself what does it truly mean? We can run through the mazes and hit each stone as they pop from grounds below. Tripping, falling to catch a moment’s rest. Eyes are heavy, thoughts are blurred, what is the purpose of this tragedy?

This maze has an exit which I can’t seem to find, I don’t quite care to find as I’m enjoying the pain and misery running in circles, absorbing the passion and love of thy self. Holding on to a cherished poem on the inside of my coat pocket, what a laugh I’ve had at the content written on the paper. It speaks every ounce of truth I could have ever asked to hear, and I must laugh at the sole blindness in which I perceived the original reading.

I’ve decided to try and climb this maze, though the thorns have another idea for me. Blood trickles down my forearms, showing me the true pain inside that has released. I release my fears and move on, to find the exit within the maze. Every turn, a wall of guarded hearts, every turn, one more rejection to pick up and carry on. It never gets easier, nor do I want it to. I created this maze and I’ll be damned if I don’t find the light at the end of it.

I make my rounds and though I feel I’ve done the same thing, I’ve found something different. I see a mirror at the end of the pathway, and I see a small key hanging from a thin knotted rope. I approach with caution to glance into the mirror. I see a different portal of existence, just through the other side. I take the key from the wall, and put it into the mirror. Turning to the right ever so softly, I hear voices and singing. The mirror allows me through and I’m engulfed with the sweet sounds of operatic voices. I sit down with a man on a bench and we discuss the notes that have taken us here. Piano keys appear to strike a new chord.


Brian Crain “At The Ivy Gates”


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