You pried the crack of dawn,
In quest of sweetness,
Musked by night’s faint bloom.
From the rooftop, you scanned the horizon.
Surveyed the geometry of towns.
Marked where to explore your vast surroundings.
To your dismay, the field was taken.
By a quick competitor of bees.
Leaving you hungry and thirsty still.
O, Foolhardy traveler of the wind:
Ceaselessly musing, venturing.
Seeking distant spheres.
Constantly reinventing yourself.
But illusions weave a set to snare dreams.
Waylaid by a counterfeit of ideals,
More ruthless than the real.
You found nothingness instead.
Hit hard and drank
The proffered cup.
Still reeling from bitter aftertaste,
You rise up, reaching.
Searching, groping in the dark.
O, wandering soul!
