Wandering Time Poem by Amelie Ison

At night, I see a man walking.
He is wandering down the country lanes and along a dark road—
He does not know where he is going
And he walks without purpose nor pride.

He wanders for a long time—
Through torrential rain and debilitating wind—
But he seems to have no destination:
He walks (never runs) like time

Belongs to him; like the earth spins for him.
Yet, he behaves like it's him the wolves in the forest
Are forever hunting for. As if he is the reason
Why bears come into the cities.

And one day, when the world ends,
This man will still be wandering at his slow pace.
He will still be searching for the end of his path
Even if the universe is already dead.