Part I

There is a trail that I've walked a time or two
Wearing heavy shoes made of crackling fire
I've left behind only a charred unrecognizable road
And a sunrise as bitter as its roots

The trail parts swiftly, cleaving me as it cleaves itself
My route is camouflaged in winter's blanket
I spin on heels that have worn their welcome
And I walk beyond the borders of this dream

There's an old woman in a cottage
Who tells me I have a mist behind my eyes
"Brown is the color of failure," I tell her as I pass
And she flashes a half-smile that chills me to my bones

Part II

Late to rest, yet early to rise
Quarrelsome images tirelessly haunt my sleep
The old lady waves from the bottom of the hill
But it's too late to turn back now

I see a saddle of good weight resting against birchwood trees
Yet no sign of steed for miles around
As calloused palms meet calloused leather
I sense the spirit of its rider wash over me

The path now winds like a time traveling clock
My breathing hastens as my feet carry on
I hear whistling but I'm unsure of the source
Is it me?  Or is it something out of sight?

Part III

I come to a clearing at long last
Blistered feet have taken me far, just not far enough
My pupils sense a brightness I haven't encountered before
Instinctively, my hands shield my cowering eyes

The old woman is there, whispering to lilies
In a language my mind has no hope of comprehending
She pays no heed to my presence at all
Yet she knows that I linger in my bewilderment

She plucks a lily from the unblemished earth
And I see a brilliant steed at the center of the shimmering field
"Brown is the color of failure," she says with a parched grin
And suddenly my path becomes very clear

Part IV

I flinch as the light overwhelms my perception
Evolving now into an ethereal embrace
Though blind, my feet move without my mind's approval
And suddenly I am mounted upon the majestic horse

Like a snare drum, its gallop is steady and gallant
My sense of direction in disarray as I'm carried through the woods
I hear the woman's hands wringing at weeds in the distance
Despite how far from the clearing I should be by now

The horse tenses and sneers as momentum careens to a halt
I feel myself being thrown through air, time, and space
My brown eyes blink as oxygen floods my rested lungs
Gasping, I realize I'm as awake as I have ever been

End.