Sins of the Walker

The old woman walked on
Leaving behind faint footsteps,
On the dusty road.
Each step boasted
Of the tale it had to tell,
Each step knew of a
Past full of sins.
Wind rushed
Like trying to catch hold
Of the bloody old crook,
Like every goddamn time.
Dust ran into a frenzy
Galloped into the air
Settled down slowly,
Again, waiting for somebody
Somebody, to tread upon,
For the umpteenth time;
And to be marred,
For the umpteenth time.
Waiting for another story
Of another silent sinner,
For the umpteenth time.
It’s always a past
Full of sins,
Every time,
Or just a big, big lie,
Every goddamn time.

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