Your Poetry Dot Com - Path to Nowhere

Array ( [sid] => 185050 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Path to Nowhere [time] => 2018-04-18 06:46:03 [hometext] => Death [bodytext] =>

Are we on the path to nowhere?
Promises fall by the way side,
But still we believe there is a place
Where angels take the worthy to reside.

Do we go somewhere when we die?
An eternal hell or heaven at the border?
No one exits this path standing,
We all get the tap on the shoulder.

Is the answer to death found in life?
Winter dies to spring and so returns once more;
The cycle of the seasons promenade
Along the path they have before.

Maybe when our breath has left its reservoir
We remain upon this field untraced
To contemplate the life we lived
And then we climb up to a higher place.

Maybe death is as it seems,
A nothingness belonging to nowhere,
No punishment or pleasure waits,
No rebirth to start again somewhere.

Archaic tales were written down
Of islands that won`t wash away,
And streets paved in gold
Beyond the path we walk today.

[comments] => 3 [counter] => 177 [topic] => 21 [informant] => Durango [notes] => Edited per site help ~ Moderator_18 May 13, 2018 [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Path to Nowhere

Path to Nowhere
Date: Wednesday, 18th April 2018 @ 06:46:03 AM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: Durango

Are we on the path to nowhere?
Promises fall by the way side,
But still we believe there is a place
Where angels take the worthy to reside.

Do we go somewhere when we die?
An eternal hell or heaven at the border?
No one exits this path standing,
We all get the tap on the shoulder.

Is the answer to death found in life?
Winter dies to spring and so returns once more;
The cycle of the seasons promenade
Along the path they have before.

Maybe when our breath has left its reservoir
We remain upon this field untraced
To contemplate the life we lived
And then we climb up to a higher place.

Maybe death is as it seems,
A nothingness belonging to nowhere,
No punishment or pleasure waits,
No rebirth to start again somewhere.

Archaic tales were written down
Of islands that won`t wash away,
And streets paved in gold
Beyond the path we walk today.

This poem is Copyright ÂŠ Durango

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