Tired eyes,
Behind them nothing disguised.
Bags they carry reveal a traveler, weary.
Birth began his journey,
Where he ventures there is no hurry.
He longs for connection,
Something more than his own reflection.
The traveler rests,
Unexpecting of what was to happen next.
Peering through windows fogged,
He finds himself a loss,
The glass wiped clean reveals the unseen.
There she waits in the distance,
And tired eyes are brought to life.
The sun peeks above the trees
And he runs.
He runs,
And he runs.

Jordan McFarlen


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