In truth, I scout the morning blaze
A golden touch to my wandering gaze
Hold account till it be morrow,
Then let loose the dam and drown in sorrow
The chatter and clatter often surrounds
The mind to task and a quest profound
The light of vision that shines in the eye,
In the curious gaze of every passerby.
They look to sought your life in story,
Need not aware that they may find gory
Or just bored of plain old hoary.
You do the same, as they do you,
You try to read what looks to you.
The hands of time clocked by the stroke
While a bunch of wit remains awoke.
The caressing touch of the wheel on Earth,
The binding carriage carries us across the dirt.
In time suspended in awaited destination,
Some look at each other in curious fascination.
Some lost in another world, others make their own.
While the real one faces us as the sun that shone.
One-stop, one less, one more to go,
Another the same as the hour ago.
Alas! I reach where there seems only return,
My path lies forwards, a quest to learn.
And the arms of time will progressively move,
And soon I'll be back as my behoove.
The day will turn from dusk to dawn,
And once again day will be born.
Yet again I will sit beside another,
Try to read the story of the other.
They will do unto me, as I do to them,
A nature to us all cannot be condemn.
Although the years haven't given much glory,
Even the shy and lonely have a story.