Ticket

Time has passed—
let it go.
Life was lived,
for a while the feet can hurry
through this muddy path.
 
Then it turns—
red earth gone,
black tar stretches ahead.
 
Let darkness fall upon the road,
the wanderer of horizons
with iron steps.
 
The sun in his hands—
with warmth
let it brand the pain,
erode the stone.
 
The trees move away,
the green canopy
slips and vanishes.
 
At the yellow horizon’s end of day,
in the guise of the outcast,
one stands waiting—
asking only
for the last release,
the Ticket.