Trees upon the Mountain

Trees upon a mountain shrouded in mist,
I travel alone, my self a shadow
The mist is my blindness
For are not all trees grounded in the same earth?

On the Fringes

Don't worry the smile is false.
I know that’s easier to grasp.
Surface thoughts and shallow successes –
Everyone wants something they can point to.
What about those on the fringes?
Those who were drawn by the promise of purpose?
What of us who cannot settle on a decision in this relative world?
Us, the lost seekers,
Who have seen enough to know there is no grasping truth
And that no path is followed without destroying opportunity.