Thursday, September 15, 2016

Old things with too many words

A Bitter End in the Following Sea
Saturday, October 01, 2011

Pay the ferryman when I die,
For I am inclined to be rowed to depths uncharted.

Out of pure speculation I'm sure we will find,
Many men proved wrong by what lies beyond.


Where does one go, when the mind is gone?
And the eyes are blank, and the face is wan.
But the heart, it still beats, and ties us to the ground.
When we die, and the sever is tied, are we nothing?

What is the reason for dreams of fantasy?
A tantalizing offer of lands that cannot be reached.

Dreams that we deem hallucinations of insanity
May quite well be a map of life beyond reality.

Will the shores on which our dutiful boats lay
When we finally run aground
Lead to our old familiar haunts,
Our childs' play, long forgot?

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