Escape

I stand tattered, in black shroud, bleak of spirit, emotion dry as desert sand. Time has fled my sight, in perpetual dusk I travel. Ever forward, drawn to call. Broken glass the path, as thorn rents my soul. To fall, yet to rise again, torn in hearts despair. Ever upward the course, the twisting path confounds, yet I am unconcerned. This path I walk by choice, chaotic obsession guides me. My goal oblivion, the need obscurity, erase the memory, life. Pain, suffering, loss, flay me in endless disdain. Nameless I burst forth, in broken dam. I walk hollow shell, a ghost, in final quest for peace. At the Mountains of Madness. Robert Gene Stoner Jr 5/16/16 ©