Unfinished

A heavy mist lay close to the ground,
lapping at our ankles,
pooling around the cold stone markers,
Momentarily melting away to reveal the winding path,
Before closing in once more,
The milky light of the waning moon,
Gently lit our way,
The narrow path,

Though the dead and rotting weeds,
Past the brushes with thorns like knifes,
Cutting into our skin,
Causing blood to run down our frozen flesh,
And pool on the frost covered ground,

A musty smell hung in the air,
Clogging up our lungs,
Making the air heavy to breath,
Suffocating us,
Freezing our very core,

But we pushed onwards,
Creeping ever closer,
To our final goal,
The paths end approaches,

We know not what we will face,
But something deep within,
Forever draws us on,
We speed up for the final push,
Our goal is finally in sight,