The Path of Thorns

I tread this path of thorns, endlessly, marching relentlessly,
Feet bleeding, each step a tragedy, aching in agony.
How much further do I have to go? I don't know.
From birth to death, a cycle unending, not once but many,
I've laid my wings down for strife and pain, what did I gain?
With no more flight I march on forever, tread thorns that sever.
And now my feet ache with every past step, each right and each left.
Too tired to reach out for a helping hand, too tired to stand,
Too tired to keep walking but unable to rest. The heart in my chest,
Dying faster each day with no hope and no love, no help from above.
Soul slowly crushed by the weight of my choices, the demon rejoices.
Until there is naught but a faint spark of me, not much to see,
I feel almost nothing as my feet are torn, treading this path of thorns.

But then there's a whisper of hope barely a breath, it fights back the death.
~don't give up now, look just ahead, the path, it turns red~
Yes, with the blood of others that tread these thorns and have bled.
~no, look again, these thorns come to a close, just the stem of the rose~
Just a few more steps and I am suddenly free! I break down and weep.
I collapse to my knees on the path made of petal, no more test of my mettle.
I rest for a bit catching my breath before I stand and face what is left.
My path isn't finished, it's only just started, not for the feint hearted.
Then I suddenly realize that I'm not alone, I see a hand held out for my own.
Unsure at first, is this a delusion? Or perhaps some demonic illusion?
I reach out to take hold uncertainly, we both laugh at the absurdity.
“I'm so glad you made it”, the voice says with a smile, “I've been waiting a while.”
So we walk on together, both broken but stronger, bleeding no longer.