The Byway

The sentiment of idle wishes.
No dreams, no plans.
No future seen.
A road that’s full of thorny byways.
No flowers grow.
No fruits, no trees.

Through empty hills.
Desolation byway.
A track that’s trampled day by day.
No sign to lead us.
No curb to guide us.
No answers heard.
No promise made.

Trudge along the lonely byway.
Water, food, it still abounds.
But comfort went with night and shadow.
There is no whisper.
There are no sounds.

Left alone upon the byway.
The compass turns your head around.
No one seen, whose walking your way.
Void of noise.
There are no crowds.

Lying down upon the byway.
Staring eyes, at stars and time.
Fall asleep upon the byway.
The night takes care,
Consoles your mind.

Moring comes and makes you restless.
Daylight, sun, it steadies your mind.
You trudge along the lonely byway.
Until the crevice that meets your eyes.

An hole so deep.
An abyss so wide.
Nowhere to run.
No place to hide.
No limb to grasp.
No hand to hold.
The light draws dim.
And life grows cold.

1974, January


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