Like any other legend of time,
There once was a horseman calling
Out to the dusky skylight.
He said he was a traveller
Who craved paths and desolation
When in actual, he was a proud cavalier
Who never wanted a camaraderie or a destination.
But, here he is today, stranded
In an expanse of lonesomeness,
Besides grief, the only thing he befriended
Was apprehension from himself and bitterness.
And so he calls out to the sky to help
Him out of a devil’s trap,
But even the stars couldn’t respond to his yelp
And cries, to provide him a map.
And so he galloped day and night,
On his black as beetle horse,
But soon he ran out of might,
And there was nothing left except remorse.
He died doing what he loved to do,
Which was to run away from places
But, he stopped loving it and got his cue
To return, only it was too late.
I remember this tale from long ago,
And wondered what it meant,
Until I was the one running around, never too slow,
Never a home for postcards to be sent.
And after that,
Going places did not make sense to me,
When every place was a place to go and then to leave.