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?