The Path

I found a door
leading to a quiet back yard

A path narrowed
twisting through bright scattered stars


Emptied my last thought
through the back of my head

Traveled for twelve days
till the sky turned blood red


Now the clouds whisper sad songs
to the cold gentle wind

Inviting the winding path
with a pale soft grin


Old tin stars
descend from above

While the shadows offer quietly
their silent morbid love


The substance of nothing
tempts my war-weary skin

Slowly swallowed whole
my final journey finally begins