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Nowhere To Be
A long aimless walk, on a dark cheerless night,
‘neath dim fading stars and the moons watered light,
leaves plumes of warm breath, in the damp frigid air,
and stains of deep crimson on these cheeks once fair.
Nights’ silence is marred by worn shuffling feet,
that hopelessly trudge down a desolate street.
There’s nowhere to go, so weary shoes wander,
and no place to be, with a lifetime to squander.
Meandering feet have no journey of weight,
nor sound inspiration to change their sad gait,
nor purpose for walking, just arriving to leave,
nor grand inclination, or plan to conceive.
Just a long aimless walk, on a dark cheerless night,
with faint recollection of tenacities fight.
I’m pausing in thought at the end of this street.....
was there ever grand purpose for these weary feet?
