Winding Straights

by Felix Fletcher

What kind of road has no turns?

One thats not worth driving.

What kind of tree harvests no fruit?

One thats not worth growing.

What kind of life holds no love?

One thats not worth living.

But isnt that our greatest fear?

To be left alone in darkness?

That we are here unaided,

To guide the tides of life.

To find that the ones we thought we had,

Have up and gone away.

Or is to find ourselves

Standing at heavens gate,

The angels all rejoicing,

St. Peters arms outstretched,

Only to realize theres no key to the lock,

And the gate stands firmly shut.

Or maybe its the daunting fact

That we have no control,

That the world is purely random,

And sometimes,

Unnaturally cruel.

The idea that the tales of youth,

The often repeated

Everything happens for a reason,

Is nothing but a mothers phrase,

To keep the future bright.

Or perhaps its just death itself,

And the fear of what lies beyond.

That life is nothing but a ticking clock,

With alarm we do not know.

If every man knew his end,

And how hed see his conclusion,

Would he forge his own path around his death?

Or would he realize,


All roads end.

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