The Wanderer

Dead silence is his preference, he enjoys no sound,
Not even he himself knows where he is bound,
He wears his hood up, as if a shield,
He looks down at his feet as he crosses the field.

Wandering around with no premeditation,
Living a life without an aspiration,
Avoiding stares as he walks through town,
Eyes glued to him as if he were a clown.

Constantly words flow in his mind,
A rythm for them he cannot find,
For days upon end he just walks,
An answer to his words is what he stalks.

He searches and looks, even questions people, but with no luck,
One lady replied she just doesn't give a...care,
He finally says forget it, and puts the words to an end,
He realizes that it is his life he needs to mend.