I walked along the withered path
Towards a place of no return
With branches, banging against the window of my soul,
Blinding my view
Of what has become and what will be
Thus my foolish ways were wise in the eyes of the sightless,
Who, in exuberant fear, ran from mistakes like wolves
They stand in the desert with their hands limp
And their voices barely breathing for life and hope and love
And none shall come to them
They never learned the value of such things
It makes not a lick of sense to embrace a falsity,
Which in time will be destroyed and left weeping in mournful pieces and breaking the feet of little children with their shards of dismay and evilness
Dying, weeping, sorrow, crying
It all comes back to haunt the one who tricked and dreamed
It all comes crashing down upon one
Who went that far to seek what one desired which is not real
A dream, a fantasy, in a wild place of thorns
