He walks the streets looking for a way in or a way out

Seeking a prize that he cannot find

In the sky it cannot be seen,

So he seeks the earth beneath his feet,

Solid ground gives way beneath,

His worries, guilt, ambition, dreams,

The dark and deep knows it not,

Never heard in light of day,

In his mind he perceives that it has not arrived,

He stops to wait,

His hair turn grey,

Time itself becomes an old friend,

All his years can give him no answer,

As weeks wash over him he hears a rumor,

Of one that the living all meet,

Some say bitter, some say sweet,

He waits by the window for her to arrive,

She can be early sometimes,

She can be late,

But never on time,

She comes on a warm day,

The sun sinks and she carries him,

He looks over her shoulder,

At what is left behind,

A quiet sight it is,

Like a turning page she lays him down,

And whispers in his ear,

Sometimes I ask him what she said,

Silence is always his answer.