Deep in the forest,
There lies a path,
One that's feared to tread.
It's shrouded in darkness,
Crows upon the gates,
They say: "All travelers dead."
Naturally, I took the path,
Because fearful I was not.
My friends stayed back,
Not daring to step,
For adventure they had not sought.
Mists of white,
Mists of grey,
And of colors in between,
Lay over the stones,
Growing thicker each step,
Devouring me.
With a lantern in hand,
I continued on,
Till the roots grew thick and wide.
Words in splinters,
Words in blood,
Were written on the inside.
I pried it open with my knife,
To read what the words said.
They whispered unto me:
"Death is the path you tread."
YOU ARE READING
Ponderings in the dark
PoetryBroken dreams and desires stay, In a place locked far from sight. Being brought up in a dream, Keeping us up each night.
