Death, but the passage through which we come to
life,
Life, merely the tunnel through which we finally
leave,
Pathways winding, upon our living´s sharpened
knife,
Through frayed hidden lanes, of life´s wending
sleeves,
Deep, shallow, straight, rising high, or very
low dipping,
Curving, rough, smooth, parched dry or patched
green,
Rushing past in haste or merely stopping for the
sipping,
Passages
& pathways, all deep within us, yet so unseen.
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