Hope leads away from
discarded,
despair,
paired
heavy overboots
with steel toes or
clay mud covered,
sandals,
from walking solo for years
                hiding the tears,
that stream and
became rivers, washing
but not cleansing the soul,
everyday a piece to add,
a toll to pay
dragging
baggage
through
the sludge
do not judge,
for penance,
is or was chaining sins together,
hoping to get a fair price
by weathering that path,
on the uncovered
clay, that stains all, in the rain, in the pain,
in that tan tone, paints skin and clothing,
jaundice,
up hills and down,
"look a clown"
as people stop to stare,
stoop to throw, their
own mud at the struggling
bent back through the air,
                                       this is the nightmare lived.

there is a dream,
maybe this is just a fantasy, out there,
where the walk, takes us, floats us
up to the clouds and people are
treated fair and souls are free,

to live,
living,
before eternity,
depth of humanity,
the measure of the soul?