The path weaving into the future
tempts the wanderer to stray from the cleaving
yet she yields her machete neat and carves her own trail.
Stumbling, she hacks at the overgrowth of cynicism
leaving discarded foliage and tracks
never considering her attempt would fail.
Outcome is never a consideration
even when she attempts to cross the raging river
the path, while not obvious, is resplendent
and she carries on to the clearing
steadfast though her body wearies
into a destination that is transcendent.
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