Submitted by : Hamza on Prisoner

Road to Reach the King

The road was rocky,
And sometimes cut their feet,
The sun exhaled,
A wave of scorching heat.

The other roads were level,
With shade so cool and sweet,
That even hearts of runners,
Relaxed and slowed their beat.

The guide sped far ahead,
Devouring horizons,
Trailing flying dust,
And shunning shaded paths.

Although it had no shelter,
The dusty path was straightest,
Eyes stabbed by racing dust,
But they chased the guide relentless.

He had the only map,
And led them by example,
They raced to meet their king,
In time to be rewarded.

Blazing torch arching higher,
Burning feet begin to tire,
Shining road gives birth,
To busy tangled delta.

Cunning tempting whispers,
Shady branches beckon,
But knowing guide continues,
On glowing sunny avenue.

Eyes stare through tears,
Mirage of way appears,
To cut the journey short,
Through shady secret passages.

Foolish few begin to stray,
Hoping for a quicker way,
Others stop to laze,
In roads of shadowed maze.

Another dreams of miracles,
And halts in sudden thought,
Inventing brand new vehicles,
To cut the distance short.

The shrewedest ones continue,
Pursuing distant feet,
Of marching lonely guide,
On the single sunny street.

Some of those who strayed,
Completely lost their way,
In web of dizzy labyrinth,
Of dark narrow alleyways.

Others found their routes,
Only ended dead,
Eventually retreating,
To chase the guide again.

Budding keen inventors,
Lagging far behind;
Only adding distance,
No matter what they tried.

Author: Hostage in a UK Prison