The way is hard to find at times,
For much I’ve done I should atone,
The road is long and empty, and
I guess I’m meant to go alone.
The grass is green, the hills are far,
With much to find that’s not been shown,
The path, the day – they both stretch on,
And I am meant to go alone.
So many dreams that tired out,
Or turned, at last, to dust or stone,
The way is forward, never back,
And I am meant to go alone.
There comes a day that is the last,
A resting time as yet unknown,
For now, though, I must tread this path,
From plot to plot, and zone to zone,
Where wild grass and thorns have grown,
And where I’m meant to go
Alone
I have been “right there” more than once, awhile each time, and yet the not-alone periods keep interjecting themselves. This is a poignant reminder that none of it is permanent, perhaps not even the bodily ending that transports to who-knows-what beyond.