Sentenced to the labyrinth, 

I bumped into a wall.

I felt some carvings etched,

Not in a desperate scrawl,

But methodical Ancient Greek.

I couldn’t see it,

But could feel, with my fingertips,

As Braille, and something just below,

Which I recognized as Linear B.

I maul the Ancient Greek again,

Hurry to know what the adept has said

About how to avoid death by the monster.

But I weep as I fondle the glyphs beneath the Greek,

And pray to remember each cut in this

Emergency Rosetta Stone.

I hope I can escape the Minotaur,

To translate what I’ve come to know

About a forgotten language.

If I must, I will seduce the Bull again,

As the Queen of Minos did.

She had her reasons, 

And I have mine.

But maybe our reasons, 

Strangely, are the same.

-jenn