Whether it’s angels I chase,
Or the devils I flee,
The trails are my place,
Where I go to set myself free.
But I don’t cover any ground,
And I arrive where I depart,
For the trail circles back around,
Bringing me right to the same start.
This pointless ride’s all up and down,
A mountain peak before a trough,
My smile turns to a frown,
I see the trail never levels off.
On this path, I’m getting beaten,
And, I can’t control my own pace.
I can feel my body weaken,
And my feet start to displace.
As I walk this crumbling foundation,
The tilt of my axis goes askew,
World spinning from this unhinged rotation,
The cycling seasons feel like Deja vu.