Two Weary Travelers

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Two weary travelers, set out on a course
Through the damaged roads
And over the dried out sea
Through a vindictive sky
And over the ashy mountains
Two weary travelers…
One was red and the other, green
One wept in euphoria
The other laughed in dread
One had a silent bird sitting on top of their head
The other carried a stick made of lead
One told stories of wars on the moon
The other sang songs about heaven’s gloom
One wore their beating heart on their sleeve
The other displayed their dying soul on their ragged fleece
And on they went, to far off lands
Where no one was awake
And they would ring the bells and leave a trail
Where ever they rode
And on the sunlit tops of hills
There were whispering shadows
Which told of tales of happiness and only
Sadness followed
And one fine day the crows were dancing
When one of the travelers sat down
On a cold bench to never get up
And sat there looking at the sun set
And when the sun was drowned in the dark
The weary traveler had passed
Into the gory light
Now on the train that goes nowhere
One weary traveler sits
Alone with their mind hoping like a bird
Without any feathers
The traveler has now a box which contains a dead heart
Which they wear it on their sleeve to see if it ever would beat
And time will stop moving it’s hands
But the heart will never beat
And one weary traveler sits on the wing of a plane
And flies to the sun as it sets

Delta One

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Where is this home which I cannot find
I have gone to the farthest horizons-
And to the hazy shores
Yet, this home which is missing
I could not even find its door
So I climbed the mountains and sat in their sinful peace
But the home I was looking for–
I could not find its lost keys
Even the desert was as empty as it could be
Because the earth oozed this cold bitterness
I turned inwards to my soul
But it was not at ease
And I tried looking for this home then
In the heavens, people and even trees
They were as haunted as they could ever be
And maybe vagrants are not meant–
To find a home
Or maybe it was never meant to be
So I turned away from myself
And maybe that is why home was lost to me
Or maybe, within me there was nowhere to go
So it is was cold and hollow as it could be
And even the stray raven has a place to go
So maybe–
It was not about where I am going
But where I was coming from
But alas!
Even there I could not find
A place to rest my torpor
And that is why the space was as daunting as it could ever be