Onward, we travel, eyes shielded by off-white --
optimism. The blind lead the blind. Around our feet
the decrepit lie unseen. The blinded lose their sense
and the sound of weeping is kept in the blacks
and deepest greys, swallowed by relentless light.

Limbs drag against gravel, knuckles
******, leaving trails. We stoop in our agony,
ankles twisted like corkscrews. Still we persevere.
It is our hope that should we press on,
the pain will be rewarded. We are
consumed by instinct – survive.

We suffer most as we ignore the sting of existence.
We try to ignore the inevitability of death as we strive
again towards our prayers of a golden, personal prize.
We need salvation in the form of shelter
from the rain of sickened green and haze
that has stolen our sight.