The Path That Leads to Nowhere

The Path That Leads to Nowhere

I took the path that no one claims

with broken signs and borrowed names

a track worn down by boots and rain

where nothing’s lost and nothing’s gained

No one waits along the side

no hand to hold, no need to hide

I pass old stiles and rusted wire

and one dead tree that once caught fire

The fields don’t speak, the hedges lean

and every mile feels in-between

no start to name, no end in sight

just quiet days and colder nights

I met a man who once looked back

he dropped his map and walked off-track

he said there’s peace in losing ground

and silence makes a sweeter sound

I carry things I never chose

a fraying coat, a thorny rose

a name that echoes when I sleep

and footprints I don’t mean to keep

No tales to tell, no songs to sing

just dirt beneath a weathered ring

a faded mark, a threadbare shoe

and questions I don’t answer to

Then came a house I’d never seen

half-sunk beneath a leaning green

its windows black, its chimney split

the porch gave way as I stood on it

The door creaked open by itself

a single chair, a crooked shelf

a photo nailed above the grate

of someone standing at a gate

I knew that face, the lips, the stare

a shadow framed in thinning hair

my coat, my eyes, my silent frown

a mirror years had nailed down

I must have died long long ago

and only today realised so.

I am the ghost of the path in the woods,

that died in a summer near the pink rose buds.