Wanderer
Be thy compass, he prays to the sun
And his weary feet trudge onward
Miles to go, gravity pulling
Thru wastelands and cravans he runs
Slowing only to be watered
Then regaining his footing
He climbs over steep and slighted terrain
He wades through mud and muck
Ever closer to a non-existant place
Something dropped inside his brain
The replay button in his life is stuck
You wouldn't know looking at his face
For he still smiles and tilts his hat in salute
While clearing the dust off the brim
And he still gets up every morn with the sun
But don't argue, the pointis mute
Becuase his journey at least to him
Is not even close to being done
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
