Puzzle-Passageways
The trouble with a labyrinth,
Is that it feels so foreign –
Is that it has no logic
To its endless winding paths.
No hierarchy separating
Avenues from warrens,
As we trudge the many mazes
On our lost and aching calves.
Our only means of finding out
The route into the centre
Is by choosing random tracks
And by try-and-try-again –
With a dozen unsigned junctions
And a dozen doors to enter,
To a dozen cul-de-sacs,
And a single golden lane.
It makes sense in a dungeon,
With its safety-at-all-cost,
Or even on a garden,
Where the mapless lovers sally –
But why are city planners
Quite so keen to get us lost ?
Or to meet a Minotaur
Down a twisty, unlit alley…?
Rhyming Couplets 