The Lonely Traveler

The old man walks a dusty path,
On withered feet, and raw.
He does not know what lies ahead,
Or what there was before.

Of times of youth, fading drama,
Oh! The years went fast.
Now each new year, unending sorrow,
The joy of life has past.

There was a time his heart had loved,
Freedom from within.
Even the purest hearts go cold,
And life rolls on as sin.

The old man lifts his weary gaze,
Unto the roads retreat,
And thinks of all the memories crushed,
Beneath his tired feet.

Onward ever onward the tired old man
Will walk.
He won't stop walking 'till he dies,
That's what life has taught.