Walking Staff
One more breath
notching the scarred pole
that I carry
walking down my path,
passing thousands
sitting on the side
sapped of their will,
on I trudge,
sticking clicking
on loose stones.
My soles might be worn
but they support
this harbinger
with an appetite for destruction
as I amble on
leaving glyphs
to mark my passing,
tasting the wisps of energy
rising off the lost ones
lining the road.
My staff,
imbued with ink,
scrolls upon my trail
leaving knowledge
for the lesser to figure out.
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