Wanderer in the dark alley.

I have been wandering
For hours and days
Under the arches
Of the dark alley.
Though the obscurity
I perceived for a moment
Fleeting brighter trace
Of a distant escape,
But always and always
My footsteps turned
In cold somber circles
Around that white haze.
And always and always
The end opened on
Another beginning.
Losing the less memory
Of a truth forever concealed
in the substance
Of an immaterial reality.
Truth doesn’t exist
As a continuum
But as fragmentation
And the intervals
To hold fathomless
Shadowed mysteries.
As if the truth
Cannot be revealed
In its whole light
But sequenced,
Being so unbearable.
And for the wanderer
I am suppose to be,
To walk under the arches
Of the dark alley
Is like an eternity
Of endless again
In a time line
With death at the end.