He travelled alone, his pack on his back,
stumbling along the dusty old track,
though he’d naught to his name,
he felt glad, all the same,
for he had some things he’d sure hate to lose,
A tune in his head and a good pair of shoes.
Promises of youth had turned traitor and fled,
Replaced by the certainty of another road to tread.
He built his fires in a thousand places
and remembered the love on a good many faces,
and slept on the banks of rivers.
wrapped in a coat to hold back his shivers,
The grass grew over his tracks,
time took its toll leaving no time to relax,
but he knew where they were when he came again
his memories sharp, with feelings of pain,
And though he’d travelled, long and far,
he stopped by the roadside and took out his guitar.
And strummed, his voice clear, his face gave a frown,
and sang, “How many roads must a man walk down?”
His tenor tones rang out as he grimaced and grinned,
but found no answer at all blowing in the wind.
How many roads to forget what he saw?
How many roads?
Always one more.
Copyright: Kristian Fogarty 10th September 2019
This poem was written for the 50 Word Thursday Challenge which ends Wednesday afternoon, so you still have time to take part if you want to. Click on the link below:
I have also included the following word prompts:
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