Wayward

He treads unfamiliar land, with a foreign sky above his head,

An endless path, an eternal track, he knew not what lay ahead

Dull eyes fixed on a bleak horizon, he almost wished he stayed,

Freedom hung heavy on his back, a reminder of the price he paid

He forged ever onwards, never ceasing his pace,

He kept going and going, ignoring regrets cruel embrace

He paid no heed to his dirtied wings and traitorous thoughts,

A lonely silhouette, he merely kept himself on course

A worn-down hat, a tattered coat is all that remained,

A red umbrella, a single suitcase, a new life unchained

featureless landscapes, metal spires, a wasteland that never yielded,

He told himself it was worth it, that this was all he needed

But it was not home