The taste of worn dust rubs the back of his throat, rough
Memories of a day without sweat fade, dim
A hard trail, cut through wilderness, tough
The only life he’s known, his time running, slim
The last of the unmarked paths, discovered
Dry eyes catch their last sunset, ending
Where are the treasures once lost, uncovered
His own story, he holds worth knowing, remembering.
I love the title and the first line too. Wonderfully written, I love the way you wrote too it gives that sense of something important being slowly forgotten
ReplyDeleteThe endings of each line are brilliant. Giving me chills this morning, and no-I don't have a cold. :)
ReplyDeleteAw, thanks guys!
ReplyDeleteVery creative use of rhyme and meter. Congratulations.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Berowne! And, welcome :-)
ReplyDeleteyour words are powerful.
ReplyDeletevery beautiful description of the image..
Thanks for linking.
:)
Thank you, Jingle! And, thanks for the invite :-)
ReplyDeleteA very cool write, I liked the way the theme flowed through out the word choice
ReplyDeleteThanks, abthomas! And, welcome! Glad you stopped by :-)
ReplyDelete