the boys return

it seems

there's a storm again.

brewing above,

the world is restless.

under a bridge,

peacefully sleeps the hermit.

the grass and the ferns,

provide him the perfect bedding.

comfortable, he waits out the storm.

"o wanderer, o wanderer. your wisdom please,"

screeches a boy.

but a rainy patter,

insures the hermits sleep.

"i must know, i mourn my fate."

again the boy cries.

yet the hermit persists,

lost in green lands of what if.

shivering the boy looks to the creek.

"far from home wandering one?'

it croaks with a sense of empathy.

its waters a force,

beyond love and time.

"i find solace in the sea,

 im done walking.

my feet treaded"

in which the boy speaks.

the flow pauses, as if taking a breath.

"follow the brooks.

 let the old man sleep,

he brought you here."

its the truth the water speaks.

the boy visibly upset,

the rain was never his plight.

"I wish to know, atleast what's right,"

the boy screams into the thick fog of tomorrow.

but not a soul could hear.

"the water resides, do you remember his time?"

asks the creek, the water turbulent.

the boy is out of time.

from the depth of his speech was something.

"i remember the world, always lost in its-"