The wanderer.

The wanderer.

A man without a home, I wonder if the world often has a place for wanderers?
Without pasts, without futures, no place to call home.

It matters not whether it is streets, continents or galaxies a man wanders. Who is a man

without a home?

A man without a face?
A man without a name?

Where a man is found is the color of her eye's, where he lay his head and loose his mind.

the eye's of a weary wondering soul lost and dilute, for home is nothing without the color

of her eye's. No fear, no legacy, as great as the company of her eye's.

where you lost? Why her eye's?

The care
The wonder
the compassion of a wounded soul

A place to finally call home

The faith of the lost, the broken and the damned.
That light of glimmering hope can be found in the color of her eyes where the world comes
to an end and home is finally found by a nameless, faithless man.

In the color of her eye's

- Unknown.(well me of course but my nome de plume is Unknown.)