The Path

The substance of nothing.

I found a quiet path
waiting behind the back yard

It's long, dark and narrow
scattered with old twisted scars


Emptied my final thought
through the back of my head

Traveled for twelve days
till the sky bled red


Now the clouds whisper sad songs
to the cold gentle wind

Inviting the winding path
with a pale soft grin


Gold tin stars
descend from above

While their shadows offer silently
their old morbid love


The substance of nothing
tempts my war-weary skin

Slowly swallowed whole
my final journey finally begins