There is a road in the city that passes through the mountains.
Not many know it.
Those who do don’t speak of it.
The trees grow wild here
The path cracks and falls away
The moon here is always bright and full
Her light is your only friend
when the wind whispers your name
when the shadows ask you to come away with them
when the path seems a curse.
There will come a moment
when the moon is obscured by leaves and a dark mist
when the shadows seem to be dragging their nails across your neck
and you are so certain you are lost.
In this moment
ask for anything you want
and keep walking.
If you make it out
(not everyone does)
to a place that is real again
remember
never speak of what you lost
or what it earned you.
The Cabinet of A. Collingwood 