The Traveller

On the first day of the journey
The Traveller was prepared
And words of consolation were never heard.

He didn't know where he was going
Just a poem in his mind
And all the things he valued, he left behind.

Running for the money
Running for the fame
Lost where he was going
And forgot his name.

The promised land was waiting
His vision led him on
But only promises were waiting, for the rest had gone.

So he asked a band of travellers
Who turned the other way
And left him in the wilderness to face the day.

So he went to the desert
Where the land lay in waste
He was guided by the blinding sun, which burned his face.

So he took the mountains
Where the air was fresh and clear
And the cold wind chilled his body, and the death was near.

So the traveller came home again
An cold and feeble man
There was no-one there to greet him, everyone had gone.

No-one left to listen
And no-one left to hear
And everything had turned to dust, and the earth was bare.