If there was a place, a place in time
where questions asked had no significance
where roads traveled were invisible on maps
and thoughts were the means to all ends
How is it that the bridges crossed,
the deserts wandered, the flights taken
to internal, infinite galaxies of the mind
are proven futile when compared to the blind
stumbling of mortal existence?
And when does the search end?
When the gift is gambled and lost,
stolen without remorse and left with nothing
Experience, pain, wisdom, solitude, death.