Walking the desert path

Left alone once again,
Shattered pieces of frozen soul,
Scattered on to the desert sands,
Left with nothing but a rusty blade,
Which doesn't fit its scabbard anymore.
Thus begins the painstaking task,
Of gathering the fallen droplets,
Before they evaporate for good.
And I keep walking on,
With a bag full of mysteries,
And a sword laced with dried blood,
Looking for a new buyer to sell,
For a new spring to wash
But tired I am of walking the desert path,
Riddled with treacherous oases of falsehood,
Of dreams unkempt, of promises not kept.
I wish to sit by a tree with green glowing branches,
And sing some old songs with a fellow traveler,
Who is as tired as I am.
But the tree is nowhere to be seen,
The caravans I do not find.
Yet water I must find,
Before I turn back to a shiny rock.