As he walked his country
Floating, vagrant to one direction
To somewhere
Or no where

He didn't know what he wanted.
He mustn't know where he stops.
Following the moon and sun
In an endless cycle.

Days were harsh, nights were bitter
Dust bowls were the apparent proclamation of serenity.
To one, his own, for the peaceful flowers were his undoing.
Given to her in her final moments.

Haggard, washed up, tired and wasted
Trudged to the very ends of the earth.
Through thick and thin
Sand and snow

Before long, stubble turned to full length beard.
With nothing to trim it, he would often trip.
He needed no sustenance;
He had already died long ago.

Days and days, nights and nights.
They passed with no particular fashion.
The sun, bright yellow to soft red.
Red like the apple orchids in Fall.

Dreary, weary, worn and torn,
Walking became a chore
He fall to his hands and knees
And crawled.

He had a destination, but he didn't know where.
The crescent in the sky was his guide to light.
He pictured the cradle it provided
As a source of warmth

By this time, the snow thickened.
He was climbing an icy sand dune.
He knew not why;
The top was very high.


Clambering, unknowingly he reached the top
Staring at his hands, so withered and battered
He tried to stand, and failed.
He rolled heavily down the ice and sand.

When he thought he'd feel cold, he was rather surprised;
Heat pressed anxiously on his open back.
He slowly got to his knees and turned around
Eyes open wide for the first time.

The sky had cleared, the snow had stopped.
The sun rested precariously on the edge of the open sea
Like tea would steep in a cup.
The apple sat unmoving on the horizon.

He found his terminus.