Honestly no idea why I wrote this, nor do I know what it means. Also not that good of an end to this poem.
Assuaged by the softest warmth of day.
Right here, right now, I'd love to stay,
But alas, we must be on our way.
We ride hard towards the waning light,
Then through darkness, no star in sight.
We're wide awake, but not in fright.
It's the rush of wind, as if in flight.
And when sky begins to colour dawn,
At last we break to stretch and yawn.
We seat ourselves on endless lawn,
Wondering, how far from home we've gone.
Again at night we travel long,
We slept and ate; again we're strong.
Upon my mare, where I belong,
The wind picks up and sings a song.
Seven nights, it went on like this,
Seven nights, traveled tireless.
And at last we'd reached a precipice,
The edge of the Earth, the Abyss.
And there we found serenity,
Bliss, nirvana, eternity.
And I could say with certainty,
It is a place for no-body.
I went home, hollow and alone,
And I found a great, big headstone,
For my friend in a place unknown.
It's been a while since wind has blown.
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