The poem says what you don’t want to hear.
The core of every poem is fear.
The maze of language is in your reach—
A winding corridor is how the poets preach.
Enter the poem. I know you’ve been
In a maze before. Go in.
Fine literature doesn’t paint the walls
Of its maze. This is real. Hear the bird calls?
The only maze is the world. You
Must be lost—to find out what is true.
During the end, there will be a turn.
A poem’s learning is easy to learn.
Nothing is known, even as you do it.
All the maze needs is that you travel through it.
You’ve made it. This right here.
And over there. See? There is your fear.