Shadowseeker

Age-old, footsore, weary
He treads the same timeless path
Frozen as it is into meaningless stones
Which tell him nothing of sultry skies and silver stars.
Echoes of happenings yet to be
Quaver-an unmeasurable instant-on his lips;
He lets them fall, light-winged and weightless.
The dust of yesteryear stirs and shifts
As he kneels and cries to the moon, pitiless orb:
Must I always be alone?
Wake alone, sleep alone
Drift unknown, without a name
A love, a time, a home?
If the spirits hear, they do not say-
but keep ivory lips compressed
Upon weathered rosebuds of marble. Day
Breaks- and he is gone,
Forever condemned to dream of light
Forever seeking shadows.