Being that drifts
with no ripple
in the movements
of time

there is no
substance
to this figure
that walks through
the lonely mists

it was born
to be
a traveller
of its own
soul

it was born
to walk
on
whispers of
memories
never quite there

its heart is
like boulders
heavy and
cracked
never bending
bruising
or breaking
the ends shaking
it is shaking

walk on.