The Measure of a Life
Posted: Wed Feb 22, 2017 6:03 pm
When the last golden coin of life is spent,
Will we be aware that we've reached the end?
![Image](http://i.imgur.com/0nvAnAs.jpg)
Or like a leaf that lands on a still, wide lake,
Will we sleep through the journey, or will we awake?
Will we consciously rise, and persistence remake?
Or will the change our knowing and wisdom take,
Erasing our minds as a child wipes his slate?
I've seen the doorway, I've seen them go,
But in spite of the closeness, I still don't know--
Where does it end, this tender path through the leaves?
What river do these bleeding tributaries feed?
Do eyes that close beneath our sun,
Dream anew beneath another one?
Does nature tally our endless knot?
Do we go on, or do we not?
Will the warrior with a thousand battles fought,
Sit next to the babe who never saw the light of day?
Will they speak, will they see, will they be again?
What will they say, and in this sense, who learned more?
The one who sent his thousands ahead,
Or the one who arrived before?
So many questions have I, as I look at Death's door.
Is this a place we are thrown away, or simply the place we are stored?
And the things and the paths that push us this way,
The voices insane and inanimate that coax us toward the edge of the world, stealing a bit of us with every step we take, every grace we fake, every drink we take; like ancient monuments they stand, barriers to mark the land.
Yet in spite of the labyrinths we build around it, the way we push others ahead to face it first, we will all reach Death's door.
![Image](http://i.imgur.com/xWPmPVj.jpg)
Some of us will be relieved, and some will try to turn around to see our lives once more, the pile of things we unconsciously discard, as we approach the door.
Will we be aware that we've reached the end?
![Image](http://i.imgur.com/0nvAnAs.jpg)
Or like a leaf that lands on a still, wide lake,
Will we sleep through the journey, or will we awake?
Will we consciously rise, and persistence remake?
Or will the change our knowing and wisdom take,
Erasing our minds as a child wipes his slate?
I've seen the doorway, I've seen them go,
But in spite of the closeness, I still don't know--
Where does it end, this tender path through the leaves?
What river do these bleeding tributaries feed?
Do eyes that close beneath our sun,
Dream anew beneath another one?
Does nature tally our endless knot?
Do we go on, or do we not?
Will the warrior with a thousand battles fought,
Sit next to the babe who never saw the light of day?
Will they speak, will they see, will they be again?
What will they say, and in this sense, who learned more?
The one who sent his thousands ahead,
Or the one who arrived before?
So many questions have I, as I look at Death's door.
Is this a place we are thrown away, or simply the place we are stored?
And the things and the paths that push us this way,
The voices insane and inanimate that coax us toward the edge of the world, stealing a bit of us with every step we take, every grace we fake, every drink we take; like ancient monuments they stand, barriers to mark the land.
Yet in spite of the labyrinths we build around it, the way we push others ahead to face it first, we will all reach Death's door.
![Image](http://i.imgur.com/xWPmPVj.jpg)
Some of us will be relieved, and some will try to turn around to see our lives once more, the pile of things we unconsciously discard, as we approach the door.