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?
