The long street ran after the dim light down the hill to nowhere. I walked on, not going any place but just as not to stand still. Lights pulled their sounds across my shoulder, leaving their tracks on my face, While green shadows played hopscotch with my feet. My feet: fighting for liberation from their hard soiled coverings - Only to enter the blistering desert of parched sand and jagged glass. I swallowed the pain of each bloody step because walking was a choice. A choice: The long street gave me a place to go that is better than where I am and better than where I come from. My feet marched on like obedient soldiers through the black flames of violence. The darkness seemed to drink my history, but along with it my future. Loneliness tripped me and tackled me and dragged me where it willed. The Slave of the streets – or maybe its Master – wounded me but couldn’t make me bleed. Though I was slowed like a ship that forgot to wench its anchor, I set on, searching for the One to take my pain, to share it and to tell me its meaning. But I can’t wait for the Wise Man to tell me the answers. The long street leads on and I follow after it. The green shadows dance and play with my feet, But I keep walking, always walking.