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The Journey

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This barrenness,
This lack of trees,
Is climbing around my shuddering knees.
From wind and snow to sun and sand,
The heat is boiling the sweat on my hand.
I cannot hold this wheel anymore,
The slickness of regret compels it from my grasp,
My feet stop pressing and my mind is sore.
A sickness for he home I've left,
Despite the heat,
Has me cold and bereft.
I will not continue on this path,
I will turn away, and I'll leave fast.
But this impossibility holds my feet down.
I pray, someday, I can turn around.





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