He can feel every stone.

He can feel every stone.

Even the tiniest grain

Has a jagged edge.

The sole of the shoe

Long since gone,

Worn away by

Years of walking.

The old leather,

Split and rotten

From wading in water,

Drying out in the heat

Of a thankless sun.

First there were blisters,

But they too easily burst,

The skin inflamed

An angry fiery red.

The pain was shooting

Up through his body,

From the ball of his

Wasted foot,

To the top

Of his sun scorched head.

It would be less

Of a worry if he was dead,

And who would be left

To notice,

He had been gone so long.

Nothing remained

From those days,

Even the faces

In his memory were hard

To recall.

And he was no longer

The eager young boy

Who left to find his fortune,

Only to lose himself,

Along the way.

Surely the time had come

To call it a day.

The pain was so strong

He would need to rest

Before too long,

Sleep, just where he fell

And hope that when he awoke,

It would be from

The arms of a dream

He used to have,

When he saw his future self

Merge,

With the child of his memory.