Stephen Jarrell Williams

No Man’s Path
 
Fewer footsteps these last few months
Less trash from a foodless land
Empty backpacks left behind
 
Not a grave mound near
Songs no longer whispering
Behind the far trees lumps of decay and bones
 
Dust covering most of the bent grass
The path a thinning trail
Scavengers’ fur lies in lines from starvation
 
The wind dying
The dimming sun blends into the night moon
Man or woman hasn’t left a dream here
 
Something like smog in the air
The scent of losers everywhere
As a few of us still chase the glories of heaven
 
Birds have not flown high for years
Swirls of feathers lace the treetops
Tiny eyes like pin holes full of sand
 
Ants cover hilltops like dry beads moving
Swarms taking their time
Silent with their billions of mini legs
 
Scent of far cities crumbling
Hum of drums on the skin of earth
Now a nothingness of importance
 
No man’s path from one dead-end to the other
The way is not by foot
But by heart.

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