The Path to El Dorado
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Poem by: S. K. Inkslinger
The path is rugged, rimmed with thorns,
Filled with wrath, cruelty, and scorn,
Leading across a murky river
That smelled of rot, garbage, and sewer
The sun shone, blistering hot
I could stop here, could I not?
Trudging on route desolate
Filled with a thirst one could not sate
Through this hardship, sorrow, and pain
Could anyone yet stayed sane?
Losing yourself, through things inhumane
Beaten down by your foes, by your loved, by your bane
Yearned to collapse and cry out aloud
The moutains scoing my sob, my sound
I am weak, can go on no longer
To the place I dream of in the yonder
Dizzy by the sun, I glanced and discovered
Hidden in the jungles, just a mountain over
Hope renewed, vigor reinstated
I marched on, this road I once hated
To my dream, my goal, the brilliant halo
To the city of El Dorado
© Copyright 2020 S. K. Inkslinger. All rights reserved.
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