A book of poems

the lonely path

Walking down that lonely path,

with no one but myself.

A friendly figure up ahead,

Maybe their here to help.

I walk on up to the shadow, that stood there oh so still.

It was then I realised, that there was no one here for miles.

I walked all day, and I walked all night.

Till heals began to crack and bleed.

I decided it was time for rest, away to my dreams was best.

In that dream there was a figure. Waiting to give me help.

But when I woke up again,

No one was there at all.

Many miles Iwalked by day, Many more by night.

But still in my dreams, I could still see the light.

A figure waiting in the distance, with arm and hand out streached.

Offering me some assistance,

Just a little bit of help.

But every time I opened my eyes, it would always be the same.

No one waiting just ahead,

No one waiting at all.

But then there was one sunny day, my dreams had come to life.

U were waiting in the distance,

with arms outstreched.

Offering me some assistance, just a little bit of help.