The Walk

I had a talk with myself on a quiet walk

I got tired of not liking what I saw

There was anger, like a sickness

Sorrow, and my weakness

There were a lot of things left unsaid

There were memories, like old letters left unread

The pages dusty to my mental hands

Expectations that shift like desert sands

Dry and hot, they went on forever

I walked along the cracks in my heart

And tenderly touched every scar

I wandered past a field of dreams

That felt so far away

And read the names of those

I wished had stayed

I met anger, burning thoughts

Like wild fires

I danced through the land

Of my desires

And in the end

My walk concluded

I was the same