Born To Walk, a Dark Path of Jagged Stones

Born To Walk, A Dark Path Of Jagged Stones Born to walk, a dark path of jagged stones too oft full of mistakes and ragged moans, lone flying feather, blown in raging storm black-hand of death, tis but our aging norm. Begging for more Time, with sorrowing pleas doomed within forest of narrowing trees, searching for some hope, its reckoning halls forest echoes, with our beckoning calls. Bereft of light, tumbling as desert weeds in abject darkness, mumbling out our needs, forever seeking more, that fleeting dream yet we live as a lost, retreating team. We exist, much like constant flying birds. We resist, hesitant to seek truth's words. Robert J. Lindley, 4-21-2018 Sonnet, ( The Dark That Holds Its Prey) Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 Total # Syllables: 140 Total # Words: 100