The Wanderer

The wanderer walks wearily through the dreaded desert of the unknown. The eternal nomad, he had no place to call his own... all the world is a stage, and all the roads are his to take. He is hardly steadfast, his thought processes are hardly unique. Like the constantly weathered rock that has stories to tell, his mind is an eroded remnant of all his influences.

He knows not what he is searching for, but somewhere in the deep stretches of the desert, he knows his answer awaits him. The sun beats down on the hardened stone, the rain streamlines its edges, the wind cuts through its uneven corners, and whats left is for him to claim. The journey loses focus with each step he takes, the uncertainity only adds to the glamour. 

There's no regret or loss. His heart's brethen, his head does ache, with the futility of his acts. The answers evade him, his time runs out, but still he walks, along no path. The wind keeps moulding the baseless rock, and only time will play its part.