The crack of footsteps echoes
Along this old forgotten road.
His breath clouds up before him
A white beacon from the cold.
His eyes take in all he sees.
He listens carefully
For the sounds amongst the trees.
His mind wanders here and there.
Always moving forward.
No doubts, no fear, no cares.
All roads have a destination.
He knows this well, but of this road
He holds no expectation.
There are no other people here.
The road is frozen solid.
He stares at himself in this icy mirror.
He marks his own trails.
Unearths old paths.
He travels along, recording his tales.
The road winds along a mountainside.
It will be a treacherous climb.
He will not quit. He will not hide.
At the end of this solitary road
He knows what he must do.
He will reap what has been sowed.
Whether for good or for ill.
His actions have an end to them.
Happiness or pain is what he will feel.
No others know where this road lies.
Yet he remembers so many others.
So many friends and so many ties.
Some will be there in celebration.
Waiting for him to make it home.
A long sought destination.