Theseus Envy Poem by Adam Hoagland

Of late, I'm oft envious of Theseus,
Sent into the Minotaur's maddening milieu,
With his secreted blade held at ready,
And a princess's promise to carry him through.

It's not his Greek honor I pine for,
Nor his strength, nor his status as son of a king,
It's his idiot-proof way-finding tactic,
To cast off confusion and just follow string.

Closed in by the labyrinth's winding,
He had but to tug and to take up the slack,
And thus Ariadne's wound fibers
Purged error's trial and guided him back.

For they tell us that God, in His glory
Has a plan and a predestined path for us all;
But life's a balloon half-deflated,
And I've not yet caught wind where my footsteps should fall.

'Midst headaches and glasses fogged over,
'Mongst choices regretted and hindsight most clear,
As options list grow ever shorter,
The fabulous Egress has yet to appear.

And there's no Cretan daughter to aid me,
And no maps, signs, or neon-lit arrows around;
I loose track of left turns and right ones,
and traipse blindly on as I dig deeper down.

It seems a bull-headed endeavor,
A thrashing about some would rather dub Faith,
Though age yields no transfiguration,
Save for crows' feet and wrinkles and other lost face.

Though I spy neither light nor its tunnel,
Nor a cinema's screen to project my demise on,
I know some day credits will scroll up,
Like an ebony sail peeking o'er the horizon.

On that day, success nonwithstanding,
Momentum and notion will grind to a stall,
For Atropos never plays favorites,
And journeys shall end where her scissor shall fall.

But lo, as they hoist me to heaven,
By the scruff of my neck at the end of my days,
I shall finally see, from high vantage,
that my path truly was a magnificent maze.

- ARH, finished 8/28/10