Jakeangello

Sometimes I walk home right through the snow. By Jacob Angell Sometimes I walk home right through the snow. Not knowing the roads I take and where their paths go. Feeling young but not careless, is there something wrong? Each footstep marred by an old generation’s dying song. “Push on! Push on! Don’t fail at the last! Give us your money, your good name, your fast And we will give you something that cannot compare.” Where is my eternal reward? Was it ever even there? But alas! I push on just like my ancestors of yore Though surrounded, I feel much colder than I did before Their knife cuts the deepest. It poisons. It