Halls of the Dark Muse

Abyss of My Soul

My soul
is it's own abyss
it draws you in
and for a moment
the darkness within
transfixes
with hypnotizing
enchantment,
how long may one
linger upon this edge
of madness,
and keep your sanity
still intact?

It overwhelms
after time
and begins to suck you down,
greater the answers you seek,
more profound seems
to be the questions returned,
if you stay
another day
you will be absorbed,
rendered no more
but another swirling
soul of Dante's purgatory.

And there remains
always the implication
that you were a figment
of myself to begin with,
projected outward,
a manifestation reflecting
back my thoughts,
you the animus in body
to my anima,
the anima in mind
to my animus.

We were fragments
of each other, I having
what you sought,
you possessing what
I denied.

What proof is there
of your living reality?
That you existed
outside myself
in flesh and blood?

Like all (those particular few)
descending through
the nine gates
of my inner sanctum,
as Inanna, having to
leave a little more of
yourself behind,
eventually even you
faced with sublime
truth retreated back
into the shadows,
running away or
simply dissipating.