The Waiting Shore

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In pursuit of a phantom called solace,

Man dared to soar, wings unmade,
Lost within forgotten paths,
He journeyed on, with no trace of the way.

Leaving his land for horizons unknown,
In foreign lands, where language was mute,
Landmarks forgotten, his feet never touched the earth,
His thoughts alone took flight, moving ahead.

Tearing through the fabric of the sky,
Entrusting his soul to the wings of machines,
He pierced the moon, he reached Mars,
Everywhere, his name was etched;

Yet within the shadowed recesses of his mind,
He wandered on, without a guiding light.

Climbing the hollows deep within the earth,
Rooting himself beneath the ocean's endless expanse,
In the westward flow of wealth's tide,
Felling forests to build towers of stone.

Crossing the borders of his birthright,
Claiming the entire cosmos as his own,
Stamped with citizenship, he believed the world was his—
He traveled on, pride in his heart, yet hollow within.

Soaring on the wings of fortune,
His spirit lightened, shedding weight,
At every crossroad, in every moment,
His soul grew weary, unseen by the world.

When he turned for one final glance,
A shadow of fear lingered in his eyes,
The fleeting glimpse of salvation,
Vanished in the glare of daylight.


And then—
By the silent shore of an old, abandoned dock,
The hearse waited—
Motionless, steadfast,
Certain he would arrive in time.


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