Adrift

A transient figure wanders through the mist

Wading through the torrential downpour,

Directionless, adrift like a renegade ship

Searching for an unknown harbor.

His bare feet indent the wet, blind earth,

Ordaining the world with tracks

No different from the ones that had preceded his,

All to be smoothed out by the rain,

For every step a hearse,

The vestige of what he was forever lost.

He sees nothing through the fog,

No bend or branching path,

But he, like a fallen leaf,

With no choice but to obey the laws of its fall,

Carries on.

He ceased to understand the direction of the path

Or its destination long ago,

Resolved that it's enough to simply exist,

And feel the bare wind blow against his cheek,

He carries on.

He walks in the search of a soul like his own,

The kindle to ignite the dying flame within himself,

And the occasional glimmers of light through the fog and sky

Alight the potential paths in his mind,

The balm soothing present burnings,

Fueling the flickering longing for what could be.