I had heard of it as an exhausting stroll, down a lonely path.
Of the hope that lie on the other end…
A picturesque landscape.
With nothing but old friends.
In honesty, no one knows where that road to regret goes.
For that lonely road only remain sustainable…
‘Til life grows cold.
Lucky traveler, some maybe.
With discarded brush below their feet.
Finding a whimsical way to place mistakes on retreat.
They will amble down a path…
Not seen before.
It is not for the faint of heart.
Nor the timber and brush anything but painted on…stark.
Winged jokers from above will toss leftovers at the scatterings of pride.
However, if one stave’s the course…to not know the ending.
Embarking in finality to that last slope.
A hill seemingly condescending.
Regrets will expose themselves in the longer than usual walk.
A journey out less difficult than once thought.