You walk down the path,

Trying to get to a particular point,

Which in your mind or whatsoever,

Is the place for you that is destined.

An ‘only yours’ journey,

And a life with obstacles at your prime,

Wrestling with the harsh world,

With failed attempts to truly be fine.

One. . .

Two . . .

Three. . .

Thirty-six. . .

A hundred and seven. . .

You took the strikes of the sharp knife,

Famously called struggle or a second name to life,

And then one day it hit you,

It hit you hard killing you to demise,

Taking away with it, everything,

Everything in you that wanted to breathe and survive.

You have now reached a dead end,

Laying ashen-faced in the dark ravine.

Staring calmly at the wall in front of you,

With no path ahead for you to stride.

One day passes, then two, then three,

A month goes by and you haven’t smiled,

Out of the blue one day, you blink,

You get up and out of the coma, you are alive.

You walk ahead and the wall hits you,

The dead-end standing strongly holding its poise,

You smile, you turn around,

You walk back the path you had hiked.

For if the path ends,

If your journey brings you to a dead end,

There’s nothing to worry,

The end can always be used as a beginning too.



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