The Corridor

The long corridor with
pictures on the walls of
and places - the doors
closed or ajar - I
walked the darkness from
there to here, the
cruel stare
near my shoulder
and the air stuffy, unclear

it goes on before me
into the distance, the
same stone the
same air - and I
see no point to the journeying
for I have been there, the
silence loud
the stuffy air, purpose

the corridor just is 
and thousands like it
parallels of darkness 
and cold stone - I 
mourn it, the journeying 
where all is 
ended and undone, as 
if the walking 
	made it useful 
	made it

one long route
to God's feet, as if
there were
things to do
people to meet
life to walk
and purposes to keep
but no word confirms it
and I cannot sleep.
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