The Sign

Upon a dusty path
a man sat down to laugh
there was no humor there
the heat he could not bear

Just crazed, fatigued and beat
with naught upon his feet
and just as bare was he
the end he could not see

For days on end he tread
with nothingness ahead
for weeks he has not fed
but yet he was not dead

And all he saw around
was sky and sun and ground
and dust and dirt and grime
and all he had was time

But time was running thin
the sun has stroke his skin
and hunger shrank him quite
his throat, thirst closed on tight

And all that he could do
was move on forward to
discover food and drink
but now he was at brink

Of life that would not cling,
no pleasure pain nor sting
would he feel anymore
he reached the golden shore

Alas this was his fate
too slow his weary gait
and as he touched the gate
he knew it was too late

The shore was just a lure
no entrance for the poor
and so he has resigned
upon reading the sign

He now gave up the ghost
to sleep he wanted most
but irony had struck
he laughed at his bad luck

And sat down on a stone
outside the gate alone
he finally quieted down
and lay upon the ground

He slowly closed his eyes
and thought of his goodbyes
and lastly of the shore
and then he was no more.