Lost inside the Spiral,
Swirling mist around
The path that calls to
Be followed.

Falsely spoken to, led
To the Bog that swallows
All reason and all under
Standing. Drowned.

Fuck it

Speculation rose inside,
Assumption eating up
The midst inside the path
And the path: Lost.

Hidden by a sea of leaves,
Green, or brown, or yellow.
Nonetheless the physical
Is locked away from the

And I.

The key, lost in the fury
Of the secular, shies from
The sectarian violence of the world.
Abhor anchors the mist.

The Spiral grows and drowns the voice
And calls me forth, and pushes me.
Forward I must go, with or without
The key, the voice of Reason.

To drown in eternal confusion.