Days, Months, Years

Long road walked,
empty gas can in hand
desert stretching out on either side
of lonely pavement.
White and yellow lines
dragging onward
as they disapear over the horizon.
Cold nights, burning days
distance unmarked,
untracked,
wearily trekked.
Days blur into months
as knees sore from crawling
get rest on the sand
with the scorpions
as sleep, dehydration,
time consume the almost corpse
lying empty-handed on the side of the road.
Nobody else
has passed
because when his spiritual tank
went to empty
and he set out alone,
he stayed on the road
that got him to where he was
instead of looking for another
where friends,
family,
waited to refill his soul.