My first attempt at metaphor.
When the roads ended, he walked on.
When hope was foolish, he walked on.
His footprints fading, he walked on.
The tree lied to him, he walked on.
No wishful thinking, he walked on.
A taste of ruin, he walked on.
With introspections, he walked on.
With no directions, he walked on.
The branch had broken, he walked on.
When the stones gave way, he walked on.
The meanings lost, he walked on.
And through the frost, he walked on.
The trees were thinning, he walked on.
The question looming, he walked on.
The place was nearing, he walked on.
The answer waiting, he walked on.
He reached the meadow, he looked around.
His gaze was searching, his answer sure.
The glade was empty. He dug a hole,
And there, in peace, he rests his soul.
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