Push On

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

The air is bitter and sharp.
A thousand needles pierce your skin.
But you continue to wander about,
Cut and scathed by the unknown.
And this unknown
Is what you are trying to find.
A treasure.
Perhaps not as glorious as those told,
In stories past.
But your precious eyes.
They see it is worth more
Than any hoard of gold and silver,
And jewels with such a brilliant shimmer.
But such a prize.
It is hidden well.
The pressure is toilsome.
And this fog is too thick.
You'll stumble and fall,
Long before you find what you seek.