The long walk

When only silence reigns,
With nary a person in sight.
When the only sounds heard are,
The crunches upon glasses and broken tiles.

Sinking and tearing up the skin,
Making wounds which, leaving scars.

And yet time is given only to heal,
Before the new encounters begin anew,
With searing cold and thorns,
Embeded in the crooked path ahead.

Is there a sadistic child laughing up there
Deriving pleasure from each new wound?

Giving only enough time for thoughts,
Before clapping and giggling with glee,
Going the extra mile to make sure,
More thorns and broken cutlery remain.

Smoky ruins and broken sheds,
Are all that is in the path ahead.
Is this really the path to salvaltion perhaps
Or is everything a myth and only the long walk remains?

The long walk through a valley of pain,
Of Silence and echoes, and only sweet refrains.
Calling out, mocking of things to come.
Of Soothing and comforting of what may not come.

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