The Maze of Illusion – Philosophical Poetry
Upon illusion’s twisted trail, I run—
No signs, no shape beneath the sun.
Potholes of passion drag me deep,
Where plundered shadows softly weep—
And every echo breaks… into none.
Where am I bound?
How would I know
If I exist—
Or float once more in the void below?
This maze expands, devours the night,
Its strands of hair turned silver-white.
I vanish slowly, breath by breath,
While Regret—
Wears the robe of Death.
So where is the way,
If every step
Leads nowhere clear?
And thought—
No longer offers anything near?
My heart’s a battlefield,
Fighting me… within my fear.
The maze of illusion—
A path to no path,
A gleam that deceives,
A wound that believes.
Where lions hunt with knowing grace,
And prey still trusts their killer’s face.
Where rats are crushed in holes they made,
And sorrow walks with blades unsheathed,
And hyenas laugh through mournful shade—
Pretending they feel…
Like human grief.
A circle spinning
Above no ground,
No time, no sound.
Through search and thought
The truth became:
This maze is man—
Alive… yet lost by name.
And what of it?
Nothing remains,
And nothing returns.
Old turns become new turns,
Nearness always far again—
Each is all,
And none are men.
We walk this maze as those before,
Forgetting: Life is not all states.
For some states dress up death in gold,
And some trade dreams their lies have sold,
And some are bought
By whispers of light and fuel-controlled—
And some…
Are spilled blood left untold.
The maze of illusion
Now hosts apes crowned by flame,
Building nations atop a name—
A name of ruin,
Of silent screams,
Of broken oaths
And shattered dreams.
Woe to a world where a monkey rules—
Mocking the wise,
Enthroning fools.
He jokes and dances,
Then breeds despair,
Turns pain to punchlines in poisoned air.
He begins with laughter without cause,
But ends…
No—
He never ends at all.
He clouds your mind until you’re none,
You wake…
Already undone.
You twist, you turn—
Yet do you believe
This ape still feels, or might still grieve?
The ape is a parasite, born from lies,
With hollow heart and hunger eyes.
He waits for your blink, your careless sigh—
Then steals your bread
As your soul runs dry.
You think he mourns when you fall down?
He’ll play with your bones
As a circus clown.
The maze of illusion—
It didn’t deceive us
Until we forgot our way.
It didn’t spin us
Until we gave decay.
