Well Worn Path

Walking steady on these lands.
On easy yoke, rest my hands.

Holding this ancient fetter.
This frontier seems much better.

All new and strange to the last.
Come across a well-worn path.

Track of dirt across this place.
There’s no way I could not face,

This path with high grassy sides.
Been here before, I confide.

Many times once and before.
Already know what’s in store.

This path makes me feel powerless.
As it breeds shame and cowardice.

I recall many excuses.
All of which had many uses.

To shun responsibility.
To kill off possibility.

But that’s not true, that’s not right.
I knew I’d turn from that fight.

While others took up arms,
I stayed here to avoid harm.

It was my choice, it was me.
That is the truth I now see.

With that thought, again I’m trapped,
Poisoned vines are ever apt.

At keeping me right in this rut.
Familiar tickling on my gut.

Back upon that well-worn trail.
It’s the path from which I hail.

Why do I fall to this way?
Yet again I’ve been made prey.

Why do I dwell on this trifle?
Need a way to break the cycle.

It’s my person, is it not?
It’s a feature I forgot.

Seems that I’ll forget again.
Tendencies I can’t explain.