There's a place where worlds unfold.A place where the meek are bold.The truth is a distant cry;Men, women and children heedless of lie.

This place is a wasteland of horror.Those of us that live within it may refer to it as 'Mordor.'There are no ghosts, goblins, or creatures of malice.

Only those people known of The Balance.Through years of ruin and reconstruction,Each new leader brings upon us a new junction.
The innocent run and hide,Children of new cope or die.This is a fate that can be broken,One must step forth, the one known as The Spoken.Where he may be, no one can say;Can only hope and pray for, The Day.

Standing there looking into the sunset,Realizing how much of the world has passed.I walk and do not stop.

There's a destination that I know not of.The walk is long and quiet outside,But there is so much noise and clutter.Need to separate and walk alone.I need to be with myself.

The long walk is lonely sometimes.What can I say?The walk I must make.

The road is long and sometimes quite nice.Sometimes refreshing to just walk for miles.Being without troubles and being with nature.I lay my head and go to sleep,Where I go tomorrow will remain a mystery.

Sitting in the café sipping his coffee paper in front of him he watched people strollin, Thnkihn of himsfield.Those people incoming would catch his eye before he returned to his place. He Wondered himself.Staring through the dark tinted window a barren dry land of men on the roads and in cars, he acknowledged.People paid no attention passing him all day buying their coffees and snacks while he sat, hoping to himself.His cup slackened from wear of the hot liquid cooling, swirling light separated concoctions, as he mused to himself.A bee buzzing at the window from inside sitting then settling relentless, tired bur much to do. He Feared

Stopping in the café for coffee and a snack, aware of the dark figure in the seat closest to the window, she pitied.Door wafts shut a man steps in line for coffee drops a dollar on the table for the gray-hair man, whispering to himself.Worker from outside waves to the gray-hair man, each morning same response, he smiles and whistles to himself.

Alone he sits in awe and wonder, the people he sees, the weather winds that blow the leaves.Man is unchanging, relentless, ever pursuing fruits for life oblivious to lesser intricacies of a formidable world.