A wanderer

Walking through the stratums of incertitude

Dubious of his destiny

He keeps moving and going


Like the thread on the ground

Keeps twisting and turning

Heads up

Eyes straight

He keeps pulling the thread

Untwisting and unfolding

And Straightening it up

It’s what he is to do.

It’s what the destiny wants him to do.

Carving his own paths.

Smoking the soul in the dead.