Futility Poem by Carol Mays

Out into the rainy streets,
the desolate, deserted byways
far beyond any visible horizons,
he entrusted his life force-
Energy that came back to him
as so many drafts and drizzles,
accumulating over the years
as puddles that caught his feet
and pounded at his foundations.
He was asked about the saying
that what goes around, comes around;
but the query became an echo,
and his response, too hollow to grasp.