The Anthem of a Fallen Dreamer
The path writhes and coils beneath my tread. A serpent of uncertainty, whispering treachery. With every stride, defiance takes flight, each moment of stillness, a desperate cry for light. What am I—if not the essence of my own reverie? In somber steps, I walk with phantoms of my making, gazing upon the void of stars that have long since faded into oblivion. Time mocks with a sinister grin, a jest of fate. The fervor of youth and the tranquility of age await. With fervent desire, I blaze, and I yearn. Yet the flames leave me charred, a specter to mourn. In the shadowy haze of dusk, I catch a glimpse of liberation, a transient specter—an echo of solace, a test of my determination. Two whispers echo within the shadowed recesses of my mind; one wails in despair, the other murmurs secrets; both beckon with an insidious allure. One voice, a seer, untamed and unbound; the other, a warden, in shadows profound. They grapple, clash, and rend my soul—For what fate awaits a man if he forsakes his role? I am a lone luminary, unshackled from the vast cosmos, ascending like a clock that beats to the distorted rhythm of time's relentless march. My wings yearn for the embrace of the sky, yet the air remains stagnant, and the night clutches fiercely with a relentless grasp. The path winds and twists, eluding my grasp.
