Wanderer, why are your feet broken?
Have they lost their will?
What of all the distant lands
yet traveled, ambled towards?
Are their soles growing dim,
forgetting the quest,
regretting the rest,
seeking a peace,
or gathering relief?
They, the betrayers,
led you into the dark...
long ago they conspired:
the left against the right,
the two against the one,
the one against the many.
Are they lost?
Are you found?
Ambushed, then discovered,
a worn sandal,
the soul survivor
of pilgrimages unknown.