Labyrinth

Why do I retreat?
To clefts of holy sanctuary rock,
Harbors where I rest my feet.

I would unveil my logic,
Like a rigid painting,
Fascinatingly beautiful.

Still, transfixed not by passion,
But by oddity they are kept,
Like some grim commodity.

Awareness of the human soul,
Therein lies the key,
To the puzzles I lock myself with.

True, my prose is excess,
The labyrinth before the laboratory,
Intertwined with superficialities.

But realization would dawn,
Like the inverted sunset of morning,
Were you to comprehend.

For my back-written prose,
Precludes me from those,
Who I hide myself from and side-in.

True,
My prose is arrogant.
But humility disguises only,
Holy pride,
And who may determine what is holy?