I Walk

I walk this road of isolation,

No direction, course, nor route.

Doesn't seem to matter,

Each path is only moot.


I walk this hallowed hall of life,

Door-less, plastered, walled.

Lengthy, stark, no escape,

Words upon both sides, are scrawled.


Words of those gone by before,

In dark graffitist styles.

All of seemingly similar message,

'We walk these nowhere miles.'

Upon the floor, lie markers, pens,

Their ink long gone and dried.

So I add my words upon the wall,

With steady tears I've cried.

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