I am told to try,
To try to see the good,
But I fear the darkness blinds me.
I fear the time that “good” is a hazy memory,
A lost dream.
I walk a path in the olden days,
With no weapon at my side to strike with,
The air is cold, the wind stagnant,
The dirt path seems to go on and on
As I wonder,
The branches of dead trees reach out to grab me,
I see eyes, glowing yellow,
I long for someone or something to talk to,
I whisper in the darkness,
I know it hears me but does not answer,
I can almost hear its mocking laughter,
I close my eyes for a thousand years,
Wishing it was not so…
 Clave Kreed · Wed May 07, 2008 @ 09:01pm · 2 Comments |
