The Door Of Uncertainty

I start my pilgrimage from unknown spheres. My paths are filled with penetrating spears. Clouds of helplessness and hopelessness float Seas are wave-filled, and I have no lifeboat. Faith points to the skies. Graves are seen around. Dead, though said to be saints, sleep without sound. Vultures and eagles search for flesh and bones. What else do I find besides rough, rude thorns? Should I stop yet? Aren't there new lands to find? With sharp hairpin curves, my ways seem to wind. I set off, though the trail I tread is shut. It's not here; somewhere far lies my lone hut.