Challenge
Write a poem about a maze of some sort. It does not have to be a physical maze (although that is cool too!). Think outside the box.
The Coming Turn
This is my home. Its corridors
Are shrouded gray in knee-high mist.
You cannot see the path before
Or where you came from. Do not try,
And do not stoop to touch the stones
That cut your feet or stop to rest.
The crawling things will catch you
As they caught me, once. I used to bleed
The way you do, but now my palms
And knees are scarred. I leave no trace
In passing, and I lift my head
Just high enough to see the coming
Turn.
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