The Trail in the Grass

There's something about it.
My feet pressed down
Onto the grass surface
Leaving imprints of my being behind

The clean-cut path;
The indelible growth of grass and weeds;
The lush essence of harsh living and sweet death

It's ineffable how such beautifully tragic
occurrances are viewed
through hypocritical human eyes

The weeds are tall.
My hands pass by them
Gently, like the wind
Struggling through and through
Leaving my mark as they rustle
With my devastating touch

I wander through this labyrinth of human ruins

I follow onto this pathetic path
Stuck between derogatory existances and guised expediencies

There is still wilderness thriving here.
My pupils dilate into a clear view of destined terminus
And my body sways with the winding roads ahead and after
As if I already new what was meant to come and be

This was that something of before.
I will learn to stop in my tracks and stumble throught the naturally taller grasses and become like the weeds of long ago
Wildy untouched by human stained hands.