Road To Nowhere

I don’t dally here.
No choice. I can’t.
The coarse, onyx stones
Along this wayward path
Move and mold around my feet
Trying to grab, to hold me fast.
Standing in shoes of tar,
I must step out of or stay.
Forever fixed in gray
And uttering bleak, black moans.
Familiar forays never will
Comfort make in these times.
Welcoming winds blow cold
And do not cleanse my lungs.
So journey though I may,
I cannot stay this course.
But stand and strip, instead,
To break its hold,
Its vice-tight grip,
And fold its seduction on itself
In chamomile corners
And lemon scented creases.

© Brandewulf 2018


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