from

 Dark Rivers of the Heart

by Dean Koontz

(the Book of Counted Sorrows)

 

 

All of us are travelers lost,

our tickets arranged at a cost

unknown but beyond our means.

This odd itinerary of scenes

--enigmatic, strange, unreal--

leaves us unsure how to feel.

No postmortem journey is rife

with more mystery than life.

 

 

Tremulous skeins of destiny

flutter so ethereally

around me--but then I feel

its embrace is that of steel.

 

 

On the road that I have taken,

one day, walking, I awaken,

amazed to see where I have come,

where I'm going, where I'm from.

 

 

This is not the path I thought.

This is not the place I sought.

This is not the dream I bought,

just a fever of fate I've caught.

I'll change highways in a while,

at the crossroads, one more mile.

My path is lit by my own fire.

I'm going only where I desire.

 

 

On the road that I have taken,

one day, walking, I awaken.

One day, walking, I awaken,

on the road that I have taken.