The Path of Least Resistance

If ever there a path be in my life,

cut out to parry every kind of strife,

in earth so deeply carved by demon tools;

one littered with the flinty glint of jewels,

and polished with the easiness of fools,

do prod me climb the grip-less hard-pitched walls.

In guise the path of least resistance calls.

Do prod me hard that I cannot ignore.

If hear you nay, pound hard upon my door.

Leave not, or I shall wallow evermore.

For the trap of least resistance does conspire,

to consume the hoard that sink beneath the mire.