I have started walking again.
Questing for the Atlantis
that has claimed the truth
of ten thousand men.

It's a simple process really,
of one foot and then the other,
whilst talking to the ghosts
that whisper clearly.

Each faceless name and nameless street
is a straw-man companion
of endless attention,
but never shall we meet.

Old tales go by in monochrome,
I'm a writer turning tricks,
walking paths of others and
claiming it as home.

I have started walking once more.
I watch the branch twist in wind
and beacon shelter
from reciprocal war.