Desolate is the land of which my bare feet traverse,
A dismal emptiness of which is my curse.
The paths that lie before me do not have an end,
Forever going onward as I descend.
I’ve lost my way, straying from the path I started on,
Drifting through a world that never sees the dawn.
A day that lasts forever trapped in its twilight,
With a lingering sun that burns through the night.
Stumbling in a wasteland where day and night don’t differ,
Hope has ceased its flow like a dusty river.
The dirt beneath me cuts like shards of broken glass,
Piercing my feet with a hurt that will not pass.
An endless desert of dirt and blood speaks only pain,
Is there an escape or am I to remain?
Wandering forever as I’m waiting to die,
Cursed to an existence of eternal strife.
The cuts on my feet continue to fester and bleed,
As my will to live continues to recede.
Questioning my existence and wondering why,
Is it worth going on, and living this life?
Well, another piece with a cheesy rhyme scheme. Why the rhymes? I don’t know, it’s fun to do I guess. That and using a few patterns. It’s interesting to see the patterns in our lives, whether it’s our daily routine, a specific way of doing something, or a way we connect with each other. Then, when it all falls apart, it becomes chaos. But, there’s a pattern to that as well. We don’t always see them, and sometimes it just takes a different view, or someone to point it out like those hidden images in another image. Once we find it, we can spot it much easier whether it’s simple or extremely complex. That’s enough of that for now, on to what I was going to say.
Have you ever wondered “What the hell am I doing?”
I’m pretty sure we all have at some point, and more than once.
How about, “Where am I going?”
Not in the physical sense of direction, of course, but in life. The years go by in a blur, people come and go, the world changes around you, and you’re stuck in the same place with only scars to show. No matter how hard you try, and what you do… No matter how many steps you take in any direction, the glass just cuts into you again and again and again. As you bleed out, you’re still searching, still going on, and what little hope you have of getting somewhere, or anywhere slowly drains. Pain turns to numbness, and the thought of letting go becomes more inviting.
Yeah, sometimes it’s like that.