Haunting my walking dreams,
A figure bent by time, regretful by bent.
Around each decision's bend,
A glimpse of his ugly head,
Turning ever so slightly,
Mouthing wordless apologies.
Horror in the distance,
Final shame of my existence,
Morning's sun makes you ever so clear,
Your toothless snarl fans my fear.
You took the wrong turn
When you came to the bend.
The path has been forgotten,
It's weeds overgrown.
Dirty boots have trodden,
Where seeds were once sown.
No return to the yellow wood,
Your back will break and not bend.
In your wrinkles I read a story,
A tale dry and cautious.
When my hour of trial comes,
Guide me away with a bony bent finger.
In my mind your advice will linger--
I never want to meet you.
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