The Fearsome Wood

He has been walking along this blinding, stony path for quite some time.

The sun strains his eyes, and the stones hurt his feet.

Every so often, he trips along his way.

Every so often, he stays down where falls.

He has been assaulted, all around, by troubles and terror, both seen and unseeable to him.

The lingering darkness looms over his shoulders, gnawing at him and feeding off of his faults and fears.

The clinging doubt digs it’s claws deep, drawing blood and bogging him down.

He recalls the days that seemed to never have happened, like a memory intangible.

But he cannot backtrack and he cannot stop; the past and pain will consume him.

His insides were once filled with fire and might; his mind was that of strength and hope. 

What occupies these hallow spaces now is impossible to know, even for him.

As he pushes away the hands of the fearsome wood, he feels dark regret and gloom reaching further inside his soul.

The emptiness is replaces with pain now. More sorrow and sadness filling the cavity of his being.

The stress of the future and the stress the past weigh heavy on him.

Every now and then, the sweltering heat fades and a biting cold sets in. 

The snow cushins his feet, but freezes his insides. 

He tries to keep his eyes fixed on the ground, for he is afraid of what he’ll see ahead.

Maybe the ground will help him to forget, forget the strain that’s eating away inside. 

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