Catacombs

Mental mosaics
covering the labyrinths of night,
passageways groped in darkness
looking for the lost sages of one’s soul.

Pastel passions of ire and obsessions,
patchwork reflections
painting their tapestry of honeyed thorns.

Clinging to the icons,
keys to paradise and purgatory,
searching for an exit sign
that doesn’t lead to an asylum.

Remembering the detours
into chambers of silk
woven by demons,
love’s fire pit located,
only to discover
its kindling was made of toxic timber
inducing dementia from the opiates in lies.

But the heart refuses
to let the sultry seduction in silence,
becomes a dungeon.

Inside screams the angel to escape,
revealing the staircase to the sun,
it is the intuitive candle of pure guiding,
leading to the terrace
where one sees the sky
and finds the peace of seeing the beauty within,
learning to cherish what in the blackness
was only reviled
from listening to unseen voices
that dwelt in the hallows of thoughts.

Happiness is the noon
standing naked and blameless,
free from the journeys into self abuse,
walking with sense of pride
in what others said was shame.