I have an awful tendency to wander
In the most naïve of fashions
Down the darkest and loneliest wooded paths
Even when presented the opportunity to walk in the sun
Two roads diverged in a vast mental landscape
And I, of course, took the most dejected one
It’s something about the way the trees hide you
From exposure and vultures and harsh realities
The way in which oblivion feels familiar and shadows feel comforting
The way it remains eerily silent but for the small, strange, far-off noises
Amplified in the stillness of the camouflage wood
I follow my own path of destruction forged before me in the dirt
All in the search for refuge and the name of release
What will it take to veer her off of this hopeless slope?
Back onto the path of redemption
And out into the sun?
How can we lead her to those open fields
Of foliage and flowers and promising futures?
How do we steer her back to her light?
Back to her clarity?