His Journey
Lone moon ever so beautiful.
Is time still?
Would anyone hear him call?
Playful daydreams visit his golden mind,
a slow smile creeps like a stream on his weary face.
God’s painting on this early evening,
splashes new hope onto his people.
Tender flowers sway to the harmony of the winds,
carefully an old memory resurfaces from his soul.
These highways are long,
distant cities lay unstirred on the widow’s map.
Cold are his bones in the night,
wishing for yore days.
Hunger confines in him,
thirst cries from his parched throat.
Walking inside of him,
a guide from ancient myth,
keep his heart close in hand.
Pushing him to continue,
passion of the end burns like steel in a forge as walks onward.
Someday his journey will depart,
a woman will take his heart.
Until then,
the rain falls and he leaves another city behind.
Sleeping in a freezing bed in
another tear falls as the sun rises in the east.
