Like ancient grudge it has weighed like the world on the shoulders of Atlas.

It has drained the blood of the weakened traveler
A crucifixion of his most precious life.

He begins from extended horror
Plunged deep from intoxicated terror
Day in, day out
Sitting, as it were
Within a prison of thought
The mind thrashing and feeding on imagined fear.

A cancer, a darkness
Numbing the will to perspective
Too soon to suffer
But with haste, the walk goes on
And the end of the three year journey is upon us.

From sailing the ocean of thought
Thrown into the depths
To roam like the dead
To collect pieces of a smashed reality
Attempt to piece together
The puzzle that was once of a child.

And love?

Love met its vile and unexpected death
Under the sun
The two lovers un-entwined
Across land the path was always divided
The last temptation takes our traveler
Seeing only the sky, he wandered
Wandered into his darkness again.

This year, this year of the tempest
The year to distaste
Has not the traveler sought the beautiful flight of the eagle?
Does he not see the meadows of forever?
In his unchangeable tendency to the realities beyond

He still walks in blindfold.

He still walks in the darkness.