Days, weeks, months on this road

Riddled with stones, dust, and holes,

I sometimes doubt this loss of control

Over the surroundings I behold

Was worthy price for the loss of my load.

What ill might this wasteland bode?

“Remember in the olden days

When hour by hour we could gaze

On wild flowers all ablaze

With beauty gathered from star-rays?

But now we stumble hot and dazed

Where beauty long ago was razed.”

Thus shamelessly claims my old heart

Which had it’s death-blow at the start,

Lashing out with thoughts that smart.

Sharp words are this old stone’s fine art.

Wiser is it’s living counterpart.

My new heart will not fully bend!

Warmth and cheer cannot descend,

Cold counterpart’s complaints commend.

It calls to me small flames to tend:

“Some ease must come, without an end.

“If ease or none while traveling find,

Hold this road’s end ever in mind.”