The Wanderer’s Lament

Through fog-bound streets of ashen hue,
Where gas lamps flicker, cold and few,
I tread a path both dim and wide,
Yet find no beacon at my side.

The cobbled way, it twists and turns,
Each corner mocks, each lantern burns—
Yet never bright enough to show
The place from whence I used to know.

Oh, time! Thou art a fickle guide,
With fleeting whispers, cast aside.
Once, fortune’s hand did point me true,
But now I chase the wind and rue.

My purpose, lost to swirling mist,
A name once held, now but a wisp.
The echoes call in hollow tone,
Yet every voice is not my own.

I beg the night to yield its veil,
To show some truth behind the tale—
But fate, it grins, it turns, it jeers,
And leaves me wandering with my fears.

So on I roam, through gloom and doubt,
Till fate or mercy leads me out.
Yet should I walk these streets so grim,
Perchance I’ll find myself within.

-DJT