ROAD

Feet are trampling unknown grounds,
The woods so dark and frightening.
Chain round our hearts are tightening.
Inner and outer ghost still haunt.
And every step inside resounds.

Trees are looking all the same,
Feet falter and start stumbling,
Hearing their voices, mumbling:
There is a road! There is our aim,
This golden moon, aflame,

Will guide us. It leads away
From pain and hurt and sadness;
From cage and rope and madness.
From fear and hurtful play.
From days alike and looking grey.

This ball of gold, it gives hope
Of a future, it gives wings.
In our heart is hope, it sings
Instead of cries. We elope
And live, instead of just cope.

© Darren White