Pounding on the ground,
My feet that run-
They follow the path of hidden light
And beat against the drum. 

I catch a glimpse of the road's end,
Beautiful death that beckons me-
A door so firm,
That stands of solid oak and ivy-
It whispers 
Calling to me sweetly.

I taste the dirt 
That drifts to my tongue,
Which sifts amongst the jostled trail-
Richer as I travel near. 

Foot prints surround the floor.
I recognize them 
As they lead me to the illuminating door. 
Placed in all directions;
In indecisive patterns,
It seems that I've been here before.

Mischievous vines entrap its prey-
How their thorns dig deep 
Into my skin, 
Scolding me with familiar words. 
Reeling in until I start to bend. 

And then a thump 
Of that bold sound,
Comes thundering through me 
Like a drum.
My feet begin to pound
As I rip the venomous vines free,

Tethered no more to the depths of me.  
I plunge forth at last,
The knob lie cold beneath my hand.
I give a turn
And let the light consume my darkest wounds,
That then eliminate their constant fright.

By: Rebekah Turney