The Loneliest Road

My feet create a beat on that rarely-traveled street
Vicious cold, ever so bold, bites at my tender skin
Surrounding this street, no buildings, no houses,
My ears, the silence liberally douses
Bare field and frozen plane is all that my sight seizes,
This perfect picture of isolation, my memory freezes
As my feet create a beat on that rarely-traveled street
I pull tensely at my jacket,
Pleading for warmth to return to my frigid bones,
This cold owns, encapsulates my body in frozen shackles,
Like a maniac it cackles, at my peril
Person after person passes me on the street,
They offer neither a hello nor goodbye,
They do not answer my desperate cries
Their faces are blank, they are nameless creatures,
With no memorable features, they walk on,
Into the valley of oblivion, into the dark matter,
As my feet create a beat on that rarely-traveled street
The crowd begins to grow tighter, building in number,
Their marching, the sound of echoing thunder
I feel myself begin to choke as they pull me into the cloak,
Of darkness and despair, that horrific land where,
Hopes and dreams are dashed to pieces,
Creativity ceases and artistic endeavor is not an option
I am caught up in this flock like a ship in a storm,
Tossed about, battered and torn.
My ears ring, as the crowd sings,
The same verse, of the same chorus,
This song is porous, containing no soul,
Riddled with countless holes
This road is called death and I am its victim,
All is lonely, in life’s eviction.
Surrounded by all but surrounded by none,
My race has been run, my story is done.
Alas, I have left a novel of incomplete tales,
Where the central character always fails.
I continue down the avenue, into the dark,
Silent is the once tireless lark.
All my fears have come to a head
On this walk that I always did dread
My heart does not beat on that rarely-traveled street.