Twisting, turning,
Ouroboros, the snake eating its own tail.
Teeth and claws, goblins chasing, hurting.
Being followed. The predator becoming the prey.
Almost the center but not.
Away from our goal
Panic joins depression joins anger
Red of anger, red of blood.
Children taken, time as sand
Sand sifting, shifting,
never still, never pausing,
Lost sight
Twisting, turning
The center is a lie
The path is a lie
Flying, Falling, Saving…cheating.
He cheats, they cheat, we all cheat for the children.
Flying on cloaks now. Giants with small minds.
Weave, but no weft, not for us. Giant left in the dirt, the bog
The stench of his own defeat.
Little dog, big fight.
Left with dreams of victory in his field of defeat.
Twisting turning, again in the maze.
Little rats in the walls.
We come for the children,
To save the children, but still we are denied.
Once more into the twisting and once more we are out
The End?
Only when Jar’Eth pays.


Poem from Grignak


Image by a3k4 at r/WestWorld


5 Responses to “Lost

  • Seems that CrIsis has a full stable of poets (sorry Ursus).
    Great poem from Grignak, well done

    • Going to have to come up with a new abode to accommodate, some kind of cave/stable…Cable??

  • I enjoyed it a great deal!

  • Wow, very cool!

  • Great poem and I really love how it incorporated the events of the night quite well.

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