Now asleep on the wine-dark sea, unfurled, alone,

  all that I glimpse—the horizon's lofty ragged

  ridges, the silhouette of a living,

  breathing world in the distance,

  quivering like a human heart,

  the echo of time pulsing

  with light.

  I close my eyes

  and see in my mind the memories

  of towns lit up

  like a string of neon pearls

  stretched out over the darkness,

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  But I have left it all behind, to soar

  on the surface of a cobalt-blue

  sea, sensing in each wisp of current

  the hint of something resembling a direction

  like the wish for meaning,

  the ghost of purpose

  haunting the consciousness

  as though we were meant to be something,

  anything at all.

  Memories lost in the time and the tide,

  like the rest of me,

  carried out into the infinite,

  there to die and dream

  eternally.