Another poem from my dark ages. I don't think this one particularly triggering, more observational.

Hallways

I walk through this dark hallway

Its stones are wrought of truth.

Though I walk this path with passion

I've found not yet the proof

That this is indeed a token

of all that lies ahead.

The world in barren question

when all of us are dead.

I walk through this bright hallway,

The glare it hides the facts.

The truth of generations

written by the chaos.

This law of nature's sale,

Man is rather frail,

and as such will fail.

I have walked through many hallways

none are quite the same

Their contemplations differ,

for the season, and the name.

But life is of this nature,

it's all part of the game.

Walk them all again,

you'll find no two the same.