Trail

I travel this road broken,
not devastatingly so that
I may not venture forward,
just enough.

It rolls on, 
this path,
seemingly to 
no end, 
but wait.

We know how, 
not why, 
not when.

The beat of the heart
shall cease.
I find myself wandering
wondering
Stopping and listening
roaming and gathering,
love and such.

Yet what do 
I leave upon,
the trail I tread?

Nothing
that any of us 
doesn't already
discard.

The extra baggage
mistaken as kindness,
when it is but 
the refuse of those
so desperate for love,
they leave some behind.

And like breadcrumbs
they leave one's trail
disappearing over the horizon.

Who's horizon?
Hers or mine?
His or yours?
Mine...all mine.

The curve ahead 
brings hope and dread,
only to the weary,
the wanton,
and the almost dead.

So alive 
one becomes,
as one sees
the curve 
as nothing but
the same path, 
only different.

No looking back, 
its around the bend now,
No turning back,
shall I continue on?

There is no choice,
broken as I am,
strengthened only by
the curiosity of
the masochist,
wondering how 
much more one
could withstand.

The fire burns
in the depths of the hearth,
the tender
throws more coal, and
flames dance
and excite.

Broken as I am,
I carry on,
leaving a trail,
and hoping, 
praying,
one finds my path
so as not to feel
so all alone.