Vagabond

Sun split are the lips of this tired soul.
Too young yet to fly but too old to grow.
He bolsters his burden in permanent toe.
To complete his prolonged await.

He traversed the tundra of infinite strife.
Then toiled through torments, so endlessly rife.
Forgiving the failures, fraught through his life.
For the deeds he can not negate.

His memories so stabbing, with seething repress.
His morals in fragments, his evolution regressed.
Ever praying, that an end will come to this test.
To respite his inevitable fate.

How solemn the sound, of his fists on the ground.
As he beats to the horrors, he sees all around.
Escapeless, the land to which he is bound.
His anima, he doth berate.

He gives in to collapse, then falls to his knees.
He saw all the forest but not for the trees.
Never climbing the mountains nor sailing the seas.
His dreams now far too late.

His journey has ended in this desperate land.
And now is renewed in the heavens warm sand.
Some surely will say it was part of gods plan.
So our memories can abate.