Warm Up

Dark corridors collecting dust
Stacking up in profound ways
The measure of what you think is just
Compounded by the one who says:
"Is it better to be lost or found,
or better yet succumb to oblivion?"

Long hallways stretching onward
As labyrinthine as a summer's frost;
Water flowing where it doesn't belong
Cutting like glass yet smooth as milk.
Infinity seems long...