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there is a boy running down a dusty road

in his tiny arms, a dying dream yawns

he pauses for a while, gasping air and biting dust

gritting teeth to fight off cold

dusting worries off his cloak

he takes off again

his mind dazed by the blinding lights of hunger bites

yet he runs, farther away from what’s behind

he’d lost what it means to be found

and sought what it means to be lost.

he runs faster

an oasis appears three cactus away

he dives in, his thirst to quench

muddy waters block his murky sight,

what was desired not gotten, not found

run along, carry on, his past calls out

a boy heeds the nomadic clarion call

he hit the tracks with renewed vigor

chasing dreams that always run away from him

there’s a boy running down a dusty road

in his tiny arms, a dying dream yawns

will he ever get home?

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