I try to imagine the labyrinth as a dance, but
I am not a dancer. Still,
I’m captivated by the idea,
those ‘rhythmical involutions and evolutions’ which
‘perplex the outward way’ with outward show:
beguile the time, look like the time, but I’m
simply a dreamer lost in the ‘tangled windings of my’ brain.
Sometimes I cannot see the wood, hypnotised
by the pattern of the trees
– that’s me:
make a decisive turn
decide, and turn
pick up the pen
the earth’s still burning and
my work is not yet done.
© 2021 experimentsinfiction.com. All Rights Reserved
Written for earthweal
I’m hosting a challenge over at earthweal this week, and the challenge is to rhyme or even dance our way out of the Anthropocene labyrinth. All of the lines quoted in the above poem are given in full in my prompt, except for the line in italics which is from Shakespeare (Macbeth, 1.5.62-63) and excerpt from Lady Macbeth’s speech:
Your face, my Thane, is as a book, where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time, bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand your tongue: look like th’innocent flower,
But be the serpent under’t.
Featured image: cavorite, CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0, shows a reconstructed fresco of women dancing, from the Palace of Knossos (c.1700 BC.)