The Wanderer

He climbs up, cane in hand, jacket glowing green
in the afternoon sun.

Rocks fall off the cliff, his feet slipping,
trying to find firmer ground.

He crests the impregnable mountain, rising above the edge
of this impossible cliff.

He gazes over his domain, the horizon falling off into the distance,
land meeting sky.

Mountains to his right, oceans to his left;
He is king of all that he sees.

Clouds start to boil around his feet,
covering up what he once was able to rule.

He continues, walking off the cliff,
continuing into the rest of his life.

He is a ghost that no one sees nor hears.
He is the wanderer.