Obscured by shadowed doors in light of day,
He watches passers by without a trace,
As sunken socket wells of water gray,
Peer from his desert sand dune wrinkled face.
He waits to be absolved by death's white light
While watching feet walk on paths he once trode,
And while he holds on to past mem'ries tight,
He wonders of the passers' tales untold.
He could ask of roads prior they traversed,
Of why these souls, they walk where they do now,
If their days are bless'd or with evil things cursed,
Or simply inquire who, what, why, when, how
And maybe where it is that now they go,
But only sits and looks and does not know.

back to the highway that never ends