The Path

The Path Bright Red sweating wagon With its dirty dusty decay from the long journey Treading in the muddy dark land Carrying natural pieces of the past, in its rigid black rubbery tires As I attempt to look out to the almost un-fogged windows Created from the lost hot breath from my panting lips I wait in the bitterly cold vehicle With my shivering body creating a movement of the car Yet the keys lay inches away from the ignition Rather aimlessly resting on my chilled lap As I put my frosted small fingers on the rough ripped leather door handle I vacantly realize I have gone to far I open the heavy door, and take my first step on the slippery soiled earth, Making a slush sound Creating a pain in my ears from the unwelcoming weather My lids close, and the thoughts of my next move appear instantly Though my body stays statue still Because there is no turning back No reason to take these unlocking keys Into the ready ignition To only return me to the pitch-black path, I had once traveled Still standing, with feet molding the icy ground As I clasp my crippled hands together Fingertips barely touching the roof of my cold chin Eyes remaining shut With sickled tears slowly leaving my face I begin to hope for better days Hoping that maybe if I keep treading further Ill be tracing down a new path A glistening bright path That will help me forget my unbearable, unwanted past