If I could only see what lies beyond the great horizon, nagging mystery blanketing all things too great for me to understand, spread like sheets over potential, Veritas’ song echoing into the here and now— a dull whisper. I sit, a deity of my own devices, bending all that burns and bubbles within me, straining to process just a single bar of an infinite melody, one perhaps not meant to be heard.
Still, I listen.
There is a legacy in the making, being traced in the sands of time, tripped up and slowed by fleeting wishes that come and go like summer rain, carried on the wings of an undying faith in a promise that there is something on the other side of the horizon worth being found. I am drawn to that unknown like a fish on a line, yet, the hands of fiends lay claim to idle stride— and from the top of every tower, of every wall built to stand in my way, they perch, punching holes in the Earth and filling them with oceans of misguided ambition that I am forced to sail, blindly, on the ebbs and swells of my lost hopes and dreams.