The journey is so unsatisfying,
And apparently so is the pursuit.
A million reasons to stop trying,
And a million things left to lose.
Faith is a story told to pass time,
Sometimes used to create hope,
Promising there might be a sign,
Or a light further down the road.
Every road eventually dead ends,
Because the world really is flat,
It is all about how many bends,
Taken until falling off the map.
A road three thousand miles long,
Has to stop somewhere sometime,
Making every chosen path wrong,
One more unneeded hill to climb.
With one foot flat on the ground,
It is past the point of no return,
No mortal man can turn around,
A realization many times learned.
The sun is the only feeling left,
So bright, so far, so unrealistic,
Yet close enough to touch death,
To know it awaits in the distance.
Chase the shadows on the street,
They know how to keep secrets,
Trust lies in the dirt under feet,
The virtue of honesty is a myth.
Ghosts on the street don’t tell,
The answer to the one question,
Asked more than heaven or hell,
Where’s the end, where to begin?
Wish upon the last shooting stars,
They’re never going to come true,
Or give hope when darkness falls,
And a sky never again turns blue.
When daylight feels like midnight,
And ice preserves a resting place,
Pray fear and intuition are right,
That those will be the final days.
Clocks spin in circles endlessly,
Proportional to everything else,
Counting down hours to infinity,
Nothing means more than health.
Sagging eyes and folded hands,
Swing along with the pendulum,
Before turning to dust and sand,
By the light no one can succumb.
A calendar means nothing at all,
Not one single day matters more,
Spring turns summer turns fall,
Turns to winter, over and over.
It’s at best a change of scenery,
To alter the moods of grievance,
So tedious, even more demeaning,
When nothing at all makes sense.
The bones of many men beneath,
Fatigued legs of those survived,
Defeating the purpose to breathe,
Defeating the purpose to be alive.
Did the smart ones give up first,
And the courageous few live on?
Leaving the remaining few cursed,
Is there no such thing as strong?
Is there no such thing as faith?
Do all possess a crown of thorns,
Is this entire existance a waste,
Beyond the point of no return?