A wanderer, a seeker, on fulfillment’s quest.
Threading paths familiar but unclear
Encountering people similar and yet peculiar.
A journey seemingly to have begun a few days ago,
Strains echoing from decades ago.
Bound in time’s illusion, unsure of what’s fruition.
A flicker, an ember,
A mirage of what for a time was a drive.
A distorted gaze, slowly fades
A swift blaze, mildly stays.
A tide ridden for too long.
A swing swung on poles so long.
On trails of false echoes,
He soars on a tempo of fruition so hollow.
Emmalase
Emmalase