Of dust that lightens up the night,
Are questions dim, caressing
My eyes which seek a guiding light,
My soul, a dreadful blessing.
In numbers, abstracts dance through time
Reversing and exploring,
The strings -a harp -are words in line-
A melody ignoring.
Why are my thoughts a sea of sand?
Why is my mind on fire?
The sphinx had promised me a land-
Symphony of desire...
A being tangent to my heart,
Sometimes a pulse of evil -
Harmonic sound, demonic art,
The ambigram - his symbol.
An now, dear Pythia, I ask
Longing for a decision,
Who am I, from behind the mask?
I fear I failed my mission...