On a dusty track through a dusty mind
Shallow footprints tracked through time
He follows them to see what he’ll find
When he reaches the horizons line
A beaten path through thick bush land
Never farmed by any hand
Holding aloft a burning brand
A weary traveller in clothes once grand
In a large grass covered clearing
With the sun overhead baking, searing
Listening close to the voice he’s hearing
This great journey’s end is nearing
On a rivers shore of pale stones
Stands a figure all alone
Dull in colour like sun bleached bone
No longer does the traveller roam
©Aarron Mondello
8/5/2018
MyWorldsInWords 