White, dusty roads, rough fields and muddy tracks,
I’ve gone them in abeyance of a dream
that’s ever calling, softly calling, far

beyond the distant hills. I’ve always come
hands empty, and I’ve shown my open palms
to mark my good intentions. Shy, unarmed,

I’ve made my way, so taught by books and words
my parents lodged within me; and I have
not asked for any favours. Should I prove

to merit them I’d get my dues – or so
I thought. And even now I often doubt
if I’ve tried hard enough, and who am I

to think I might be worth it? So I will
forever keep on hoping, growing older –
alone, uncertain, empty-handed still.

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bydemure101© 3 comments/ 1661 views/ 0 favorites

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