My Path

I walk these paths alone,
Cold and unforgiving stone,
Dark these streets of shadows are,
With no pity for my lonely soul,


If I ever meet a man old,
I’d ask him for his pot of gold
If only to bask in his reflection,
For a moment feel not alone,


I’d rather die than be cut in half,
Burnt alive, to the wind like chaff,
But words can never make me bleed,
Guess the tools I own are blunt,


Like Atlas, this is mine to bear
A teary weight I cannot share
I try to scream, gather a crowd
But this secret’s mine to shroud


My salvation is to learn by touch
From the stone below my feet
So I’ll keep to this path alone,
Till the time I turn to stone



– ©2013 Raziel

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