wastelands by: karl meier

Onward trudges the old warrior, on his hands and knees in pain. 
Through hardship and loss, sorrow and grief, over and over again. 
Through the darkest of nights, and the blistering days, through the muck and the mire of rain. 
He prays he can stop, take a break from his quest, a reprieve from the nerve wrenching pain.
But onward he pushes on sore bleeding hands in hopes of escaping this place where he lives, known as the “Great Wastelands.”
He’s been moving forward for all of his life, but the borders they just never change. 
No matter how far or long that he travels, it’s somehow always the same.
There’s places so bleak it’s an assault to the mind,
And can nearly drive you insane, but there’s beauty and peace when expected the least, but it is always fading away.
The dark shades the furthest corners, that can’t hold or reflect light, or you can walk in the sunshine for many a day, but you’re never far from the night.
So trudge forward brave and battered soul, 
If peace is what you’re hoping to find,
But just remember there is really no end.
To these “wastelands” we keep in our minds.