I walk on an age roughened path,
trodden by many, yet eerily empty;
under cover of a thousand pin ******
small and insignificant;
In the company of only travelling shadows
beneath my feet.

The road ends on a destination unseen,
weariness slowly taking a toll on me;
each step weighted down by wordly woes,
Is it necessary to go on this road?
Can I rest here, lay down my aching bones,
among shadows which seem inviting-
their darkness alluring , their transience reflecting my own .