The Labyrinth of the Mind

In the shadowed corridors of thought,
A maze of whispers, tightly wrought.
No simple map, no guiding line,
To trace the depths where truths entwine.

A tear might glisten, yet joy reside,
Or laughter mask what’s held inside.
The heart beats fast, the hands may shake,
But which thread tells the tale they make?

A spectrum vast, a shifting hue,
What’s seen as false may yet be true.
A fleeting mood, or chronic ache—
What’s transient, and what will not break?

A label’s weight, a name bestowed,
Can soothe the soul, or overload.
But diagnosis, intricate art,
Requires both science and the heart.

For each mind carries its own storm,
No single mold can fit the norm.
The puzzle pieces, jagged, small,
May never come to fit at all.

Yet still, the seekers strive to see,
Through tangled roots, to clarity.
With careful ears and open eyes,
They sift the truths from veiled disguise.

So tread with care, in gentle light,
The mind's complexity, its fight.
For each diagnosis holds the key,
To deeper truths of humanity.