Wasted Years

I've heard there are two paths you can go by, I've read I ought to take the path less traveled; I've made my own path despite, Ever having given either path a gamble. Lost traversing aimlessly through, The lush spring prairies full of life; I seem to unknowingly choose, Desolate vast tundras of ice. A colorless empty wasteland, Slows down my once wondrous journey; Turning my hue-less eyes face down, Numbing the thoughts that concern me. Selfishly I ponder on, Giving myself a gander; My lucid daydreams carry-on, Struggling to turn my criticism to banter. With no longing for a sunrise, No interest in howling at the moon; Only now in sunset skies, I can feed my empty tomb. I have known that for survival, Trapped within this frigid glacial world; Atonement flourished revival, Sent within a single warm word. Precipitous licking fire, It's flares echo from up above; Precipitates the muck and mire, To precipitation of love. Still off in the foggy distance, I can faintly hear the tone; Beckoning to my existence, For my soul for whom the bell tolls. My tortured weary body aches, While my minds bright embers aglow; The songbirds of sorrow awaits, Reaping dark empty seeds I sow. Devaluating precious time, And prioritizing my pain; Has left self-loathing in my prime, With a pessimistic disdain. Perhaps time isn't as real, As understands our mind's perception; It must just be the moments we feel, More like a figment for recollection. As the white sands of time flow through the glass, I helplessly watch their numbers diminish; With every grain another lapse, With every moment that goes till it's finished.