This is my trail
The map given to me decades ago by those who didn’t know better
It’s not their fault, nor is it mine,
That this map no longer holds sway
Cursed and blessed with diseases like smallpox on the western front
The trail is overgrown now with white moss, ravenous, relentless
Slowly encroaching, devouring, consuming
As the demons and crows circle
Giggling and waiting
In vain, it turns out
For my ultimate surrender
My Zen Brain 