Poetry ••• Aimless. I guess that's what I am. There's no place I'd like to arrive at. So that makes me aimless. My feet start to ache. I don't want to walk anymore. I'm so very tired you see. I'm urged to keep on moving. Even if it's painful. I want to stop and ponder. Maybe think of where I'll end. What will happen if my feet grow roots. They usher me forward. Hands pushing against my back. I don't want to walk anymore. Upon this dusty path. My feet are dirty and tired you see. Good sir, please allow me rest. I'm urged to keep on moving. Regardless of my health. Since they push me to walk forward. I guess that I'll walk sideways. Aimlessly in the dust. I guess that's what I am. Aimless.
When the Old turn to stone
and names become forgotten,
When mountains crumble
and oceans dry,
When forests catch fire
and lakes flood,
When they rebuild and move on
They will change and forget
