the path of life is strange
it is windy and sad and broken and hard
It is never understood until you reach the end
then, it is too late in the game to count the flowers you didnt stop to smell
the faces of the family you didnt spend enough time with
the ghosts of old friends
and the scattered remains of things you meant to do
dreams you never found
in the end we all die with our notebooks half filled
our names barely etched on the great stone of life
maybe love is found
maybe love is lost
maybe the river sucks you down before your time
in the end there is only the fight
the battle for some kind of hope, or glory
maybe the sacrifice was all in vain
the greatest sin is never having lived
to die before you lived
to bury the best part of you in a box
and hide it in some corner
where it haunts you all your days
This is the greatest crime
it is much better to fail
in front of the world than never
put your cards on the table.
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