The Usual Find....

you cross the sea
arrive at a port
on a land where you
were never for once
has set foot on
its rock
you carry your bag
traveling lightly
you follow a road
that winds upon
the mountainsides
you cross more rivers
down the valleys
and when you arrive
at what he is boasting
you actually find
nothing.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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