I packed my heart in a weathered bag,

Traced lines on maps that no one had.

Chased sunrise down a rusted rail,

Sailed oceans stitched with salt and hail.

I climbed the spines of foreign peaks,

Listened for what silence speaks.

Wandered deserts cracked and wide,

Praying meaning lived inside.

Cities flickered like cigarette burns,

Each one a lesson no one learns.

I walked through crowds and empty bars,

Wrote my hopes in subway cars.

I spoke to prophets, drunk and lost,

Who preached of truth, but not the cost.

I asked the wind, I begged the rain,

But answers never learned my name.

From jungle steam to Arctic freeze,

I knelt to gods and foreign knees.

Each place a promise just undone,

Another nowhere I’d begun.

The more I searched, the less I knew,

The stars were maps I couldn’t use.

I wore my soul down to the thread,

Hoping still, just up ahead—

But all I found was mirrored sky,

And questions I forgot to cry.

So now I walk, not to arrive,

But just to feel a little alive.

I sought the world, I sought the spark,

And found instead the quiet dark.

No treasure waits, no grand unveil—

Just wind and footprints growing pale.