Walk On

Distant destinations fill the mind
As I pursue the path on which I trot,
Once trodden by men much
Better than I will ever be.
I can feel their woe as my feet
Step over theirs, each step forming pairs,
Of old and new, now and then
Put together in momentary blend
Of earth and flesh, a dirty sole
Both theirs and mine.

And time becomes irrelevant,
I have no destination now,
Only a vague idea of how
I shall carry on my way,
To see the warmth of the day,
For the night is cold,
And I don't like it.
I do not.

But I suppose those men so long ago,
Those pioneers of purposeless land,
With pride in heart and empty hand,
They knew too, that each dawn
Only lasts so long,
That fiery stinging light must give
Way to pale, submissive white.

The journey never ends, it simply just repeats,
For though the city of a thousand streets
Ends the lonely man's woeful gait,
The discovery so desired by men
Always manages to dissipate,

Just there in the midst of his fickle fingertips.