Vanishing point

In the far distance all lines converge
at a point in the haze that is infinitely small

too small to be seen.
too small to matter
too far to be heard from,
no matter how loudly I yell

so I just keep on walking,
satisfied with persistence,
and that I cover terrain.

And when I looked back in the distance
where I was in my youth
where all lines emerge
I strain to listen
for somone or something that mattered.

But the truth rests too silent in the haze to tell.