Wanderer

The survivor.

Dry earth tumbles through the hot, arid breeze like ashes
In the dusty fields around me.

In the distance the branches of the scorched trees
Twist in agony.

I walk the sooty path carved into the parched earth by
Travelers long past.

Somewhere beyond me a lone wolf sings his mournful melody
Of lost love and loneliness

Into the night.

The dust settles around my bare, blackened feet –
The mark of a Wanderer – and clings to them.

The last of humanity, the end of an era,
Trudges through the finally fading failures

Of mankind’s tragedy.