The Things We Hold Dear

The labyrinthine monolith refuses to shed a tear.
He looks on with a sort of ambivalent assurance,
seemingly without weakness or need.
To those who have ventured that maze, it is clear
at his core he is lost in himself.
Countless dead ends plague his journey
and in the end the effort just pushes him deeper into the maelstrom
On the alter his mother lays, cast in the light of something
outside of himself, and it is this distance that scares him.
This great ruler must accept that he can do little
save provide company, to another like himself.
She is older than he, with twists and turns that lead to paths
that likely no person has ever ventured.
The lesson he must see, is that though she is older
deeper, and infinity complex, the path through her wooded
hedgerows is easy and without fuss.
If he, the great ruler, the conqueror is to survive this campaign
he may need to learn what it means to be as open as she,
and accept that not all paths are open forever.