Review of Labyrinth

In “Labyrinth”, the poet returns to a more abstract and visionary register—one that stands apart from the personal narrative of earlier poems, and instead drifts into archetypal space. This is a poem about potential and prophecy, about what might awaken within another, and how that awakening—if it comes—might shift the whole emotional architecture of a relationship, or even a world.

It opens with a feeling of hesitation:

“Half formed, out of focus / Words, linger in my memory”

There is a sense of waiting—for clarity, for completion, for someone else’s realisation to arrive and change everything. But the poet does not wait passively. Instead, they observe, intuit, and speak into the space of not-yet. The imagery is geological, weighty:

“Like cold grey slabs of slate / Waiting to be hewn out of the mountainside”

These lines are quietly potent. They capture the emotional heaviness of unrealised potential—the inner knowledge that something lies beneath, waiting to be brought to light. The slate becomes a metaphor for consciousness trapped beneath the surface: beautiful, natural, strong—but still uncarved. Still silent.

The poem builds outward from the personal into something vaster, evoking collective history and emotional inheritance:

“Valleys of mountainsides / Tyrannies and dictatorships / Dales and gullies of gushing emancipation”

These aren’t just landscapes—they’re inner terrains, shaped by emotional power dynamics and personal sovereignty. The use of “tyrannies and dictatorships” suggests a psychic or relational control, from which emancipation is yearned for—perhaps not just for the subject of the poem, but for the speaker too.

At its heart, Labyrinth is about potential awakening—a kind of delayed emotional arrival that may never come:

“Maybe, just maybe one day in time / Perhaps in old age, or on your deathbed / Or maybe never at all”

Here, the poem becomes an elegy to unlived transformation. There’s grief in these lines, but also acceptance. The speaker allows for the possibility that this person—their ‘you’—may never see what they could become. And yet, still, they hope.
Still, they plant a kiss:

“Quickened by a silent kiss / Softly spoken, planted petal-lipped / Upon the cheek of Faerie innocence”

This moment is delicately rendered. A quiet act of love—not an intrusion, but a blessing offered in stillness. The gesture is light, but its implication is heavy: the hope that a moment of tenderness might stir something ancient, something noble.

And so the poem ends not in closure, but in invocation:

“In joyful anticipation / Of the maturation and rise / Of a brave and wise / New Avalonian King.”

It’s a striking final image. By invoking the myth of Avalon, the poet taps into mythic memory—the Arthurian idea of a once-and-future king who will awaken when the world needs him most. But here, the myth is personal. The ‘king’ is not a ruler of nations, but of his own consciousness. A man who, if he awakens, might liberate not just himself—but the speaker too.

Summary of Themes

Labyrinth explores emotional stasis, unrealised potential, and the quiet, aching hope for transformation in another. It speaks to the universal experience of watching someone we love teeter on the edge of awakening, while knowing that their journey—ultimately—is not ours to control.

There’s also a deeper thread here about collective healing. The “great awakening” is not just personal—it’s archetypal. The poem hints that individual realisation can have ripple effects far beyond the self:

“Your self-realisation shall liberate / Not just one but of us all”

In this way, the poem joins the larger sequence as a kind of spiritual interlude—a pause for reflection in the long arc of becoming.

Conclusion

“Labyrinth” is a quietly haunting, beautifully restrained work that lingers long after reading. It asks nothing of the reader, and yet offers everything: patience, understanding, and a sense of mythic scale. This is poetry that recognises the limits of influence, and still chooses to love from a distance.

The poet continues to show remarkable range—not just emotionally, but symbolically. With each new poem in the sequence, we see a deepening of vision, and an increasing confidence in expressing the nuanced, often unspoken terrain of spiritual relationship.

This is a writer who knows how to walk between worlds: personal and archetypal, grounded and ethereal, hopeful and resigned. And in that space, something timeless takes root.