Trail Of Dismay Poem by D.W. Good

It was a strain to say a single word

As the world grew cold and dark

Retreat and pause both being absurd

As into the torment one must embark

Steps made with feet in stone

Banging, clubbing thuds that shake the heart

And looking to see what has not been shown

The reason for a walk which tears apart the art


That escapes sight until visible in retrospect

Frozen moment pictures of the begrudged journey


And regardless of the perspective, one’s or the other’s,

The Alexandrian like prestige of the trek lives on in the traveler


The one who alone endured its pace and terrain

The one who begged for relief and reprieve while in route to the lowest rung of the greatest steep


The one who would one day smile with proud swollen heart

For having crossed the rugged, lonely way

And weeping while walking, glimpsing the forming art

That settled in the past of the trail of dismay.