The Path

The pit within the path I’ve sown was buried deep beneath the stones. The stones I’ve found the pit I see is buried deep beneath my bones.

My lifeless corpse on endless course with what was once a tortured force. An empty shell was never well, on path that seems was forged in hell.

My death was once a sacred truth that ended with a wasted truce.

Tossing turning, blankness churning. Voiceless feelings, useless kneelings. The fog of night, the thought of flight. Mass of confusion. Does any of this even Matter…delusion

The future holds a maze untold and hope is all but laid unsold, and as for you was as for me, be thoughtful as for what you see. For life can be a rightful plight but not do those who can’t take flight.  

The steps you chose, when win or lose  is bought and sold by which and who. Be careful of the timeless truth of paths that seem to be untrue.

The lies that lye beneath the stones are merely tearing at your bones. The path you sew, the pit is there, be weary of its evil tow.

The watchful eye. A lonesome cry. Its righteous stance is hard to buy. But lies are found on sacred truths to dupe the souls of misled stoops.  

Awakened minds, forsaken times, the darkness blends with life sublime.

Be weary of its endless tow, that drags you through his guiltless throw. His will is pure, if pure was will, to end in truth that  has no thrill.

Tossing turning, blankness churning. Voiceless feelings, useless kneelings. The fog of night, the thought of flight. Mass of confusion. Does any of this even Matter…delusion.

The pit within the path you chose is the there no matter win or lose. The stones you find, they do not bind to choices meant to seek unblind.

The bones are yours. Your flesh is still. Do not mistake the fraught for thrill.  The path you choose, when win or lose, is yours to claim and yours to lose.

The time you right to read this slight may do you well or those you tell. The depths I speak, please do not seek, for mine doth steam a path to hell.