He watches from his perch above his head,
The vulture that has circled him for days.
He wasn't dying, though at times,
He felt his soul being torn apart.
He trudges through the demonic turmoil
That is his life.
The vulture watches.
There's really is no life.
He climbs each broken step, stumbling
As he reaches past each twisted thorny vine.
He bears the scars of the battles waged-
Not on his physical being,
But on his heart and soul.
The vulture still sits eyeing him
As if he was giving up the ghost.
He pushes past the brimstone gates,
And refreshing air fills his lungs.
He looks out into the world in front of him,
And sees the beauty unfold.
He looks forward and sees a path he has never taken,
Perhaps to some the "road less taken",
And with a little fear and resolve,
He steps into the world that is anew,
And he is escaping hell.
Robert J Nye (2007)
