The Dark Path

I took a path not long ago,
that placed me in a dark abode.

The sun gave no light,
the moon did not fight.

Coldness abounded.

Sightless confounded.

No one but me traveled this way;
blame rests with me to my dismay.

Running, stumbling no where I go;
vines, thorns pierced among the thro.

Scared, alone I want my home.
It is my path, my sin, my tome.

Who can help this weakened man?
This one who followed his own plan.

Freedom is not in me;
I cannot let this be.

"Help," I call; I shout out loud,
From these lips, once so proud.

No light, no fire.
Only one desire.

For where is my help?
For where is my Hand?