upon those paths
I had chosen--
the tear stains,
the blood drops,
the rusted weapons,
dulled from age,
that I once used
to fight the Demons
and Spirits of
my own mind--
I remember
the pain I went through,
the scars I've faced
day after day,
without relief
from the memories
of my vain battles,
fought for empty
pots of gold.
The pain, the tears,
the scars--
all for naught.
My tears now fill
the footprints
on the dusty roads
where I once walked,
and, later, crawled.
The naked trees
weep for their
lost leaves,
as I weep
for my sad excuse
for a wasted life.
Every beam
of natural light
was hid from me.
My skin grew pale
from lack of its
nourishing rays.
I have seen
the seasons change
time and time again,
never once changing
in my favour.
There's no greater pain
than to see
all of my struggles,
every footstep,
and every battle
flashing in front
of my tired eyes,
and having
no sense of gain;
and now,
I know the truth.
Through every
terrifying event,
I know now.
I have succeded.
