He walks alone among the cities,

Passing the People and their pities

Meaningless stares,

Faces framed with tamed hair.

He moves, finding solace

In the the word's expansive palace.

But there is something missing,

Perhaps someone

Not one of the People,

Not there above the church's steeple,

But a companion, 

A fellow journeyman.

Perhaps, that is why he travels,

Just waiting for his life to unravel,

Reveal the prize inside

That remaining stationary would hide.


The End

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