On the Road

For months
I have accumulated,
my soul
in the soles,
of my shoes.
And now 
I am going
to wear it down,
on the road,
and expose
all its layers.
At first, 
I will scrape
the grime of the city
against the gravel.
Naked,
rolling on the moist
verdant grass,
I will wipe off,
the indifference
of the, "now".
And when my skin
is green
and raw,
and the wounds 
expose me,
when the cold wind
purifies the oozing self,
I will offer 
it to that dwindling 
path in the forest.
There will be 
no return,
for the soles
shall be so worn,
that the soul
will be a demarcation of  the roads

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