The Final Path Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The clock ticks soft, a gentle beat,
As years like whispers, move and meet.
The body slows, a peaceful rest,
A calmer soul, within the breast.

No hurried steps, no frantic chase,
A quiet smile upon the face.
The soul awakes, a gentle stir,
Preparing softly, to transfer.

The world's bright gleam, begins to fade,
Less gold is sought, less fuss is made.
Old treasures shared, with open hand,
No need to keep, in this soft land.

Ambition sleeps, a silent dream,
Beside a gently flowing stream.
What others think, now matters less,
A simple joy, to gently bless.

The winding road, nears its last bend,
No fear remains, it's not the end.
Just turning home, to peaceful skies,
Where spirit soars, and gently flies.

Death, a soft door, to slip away,
Into the light of an endless day.
A whispered peace, a gentle sigh,
As life moves on, beyond the sky.


T.M.Solvang