The Higher of Two Evils

The wanderlust grows like a moss
On
the bark of this forming soul,
But alone is where I'm at,
And alone is
but the whole
Of this unforgiving sin,
This wretched undertaking,
Which always lets me in,
But steels the bars I'm breaking
To find.

Moments (kisses, bonds of empathy), last for their namesake,
Temporarily relieving the desolation of my landscape,
But not to these
will I cling,
Nor to anything
Manmade, infected with hypocrisy,
Mortality and infidelity.

Bracing on
Is the manner of my
journey;
'cause every time I die,
seems like I can't be touched.
A
fireside story.

(c) 06