Bonding to the path at hand.

The daggers themselves were made of maintained ignorance.
Walking too far down the chosen path
that escape itself was only to be
without walking a path.

.

Despising both paths all the same,

perhaps this path further more;

crafted by the surface of merely soft soil.

Or perhaps then,after all,
the grass is never greener,where my shoes ever walk;

that I'd catch the rainbows
even before green grass,

that if i ever did have it,

it was simply leprechaun gold-

.

glorious,splendid,

rare,uncommon,

too-fast,short-lived,

slippery and swiftly gone.
.
Now staring toward the path ahead,

hidden by thick thickets.

Deciding if i should proceed onward,

by the path i now see-not gold,
My Mind Was In Contradiction-

.

deciding if i should

(-in the exact same order-)

dig my machete into the path,

and wander off the track,

step-by-step.
And i still stand on the path;for now...