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The Journey
February 15, 2010
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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