The Journeys We Take

Disfigured,

with aches and ashes to his white bones,

Self slogs along the shore.

He cannot stop, he sees the end.

And yet, he carries a burden,

a weight so heavy,

That his slender shoulder blades perforate the load

. . . leaving him inextricably bound.

Frustrated yet fascinated,

Self does not cease his trek.

Onlookers shout,

Warning him of his frivolous journey.

“Where are you going?

Why are you going there?

Who are you going for?”

Self hears these cries, yet he continues heedlessly

Along the brown sand, a stretch of sharp gray sediment

And glass lacerates his bloody red soles.

And yet he does not cease his trek.

No, he sees the bright, yellow end,

he tramps onward,

With his burden in tow.

Little does Self know.

He walks along the interminable shore,

A black world without an end.

Carrying a weight that is not his,

And suffering the pains of someone else.

Self continues his trek,

Seeking an end that only exists

in the mind of another.