Roads Of Time
Walking the lonely roads of time, I face myself.
The puffs of dust gently follow the slight air
as the grains fall slowly, they echo my despair.
Raising my eyes, misery lies on the shelf.
The pounding in my chest never ceases, ever drumming
hopes of newness unknown, wilting my joy forever.
Creasing brow tangles the web of larger endeavor.
Cautious moments bloom again into smiles of humming.