The Lone Traveler

Taking miniscule steps down the frigid trail,
Inferior to nature's scared bounds,
Accompanied by one on a precarious journey,
Which only functions as a guide to death.

Foothills ahead seem twenty times taller,
The white timber of the wild feels perpetual,
Yielding to snowstorms in a polar climate,
The hound searches for a misplaced hope.

The traveler sinks in the eternal cold,
Half his body petrified, his eyes weary,
He recollects a decision he now repents,
Incautiously choosing to travel alone.

With a slim vitality left, he builds a fire,
A symbol of passion and desire for life,
But easily wrecked by shackles of fate,
Forcing his eyes to reckon the darkness.

With every endeavor freezing in failure,
And no sense of touch left in his soul,
The traveler descends to the glacial ground,
Finally succumbing to the arctic nightmare.

Within the depth of an everlasting slumber,
The lone traveler lies still while the dog moves on,
But his spirit is lifted from the erratic winter,
And to his afterlife, where hope shall be found.

~Lidless Eye