How far do we go before
progress only feels like decay,
And words spoken a million years ago
feel like they hurt only yesterday.
The road is rugged and all paths worn
But it is hard to kill the human spirit
It wanders till it finds its way
Only to rest below the ground.
I will go walk this way too
but I’ll try to find myself
on the way down,
Because death is nothing but
a kiss of finality
The grave, nothing but coming home.