Journey Poem by Rory Hudson

It is the weeping of the world
that you encounter in your journey to distant lands.
It is the unravelling of the scroll,
its script deciphered by sad sages in roadside inns where you take your rest.

It is the ending of the world’s dream
in fragments which you find littering the twisted path you tread.
It is the song left forever unsung,
still-born in choking thirsty throats of ageing men.

It is the poem left unwritten
because the poet could not find words within his heart.
It is the painting left incomplete
because no colours represented adequately what was seen.

It is the wearing out of your shoes
as you trudge wearily upon the stony road to nowhere.
It is the mirror cracked, into which you blankly look,
your pallid reflection broken by disjointed lines leading to the end of your endless journey.