There are places that exist,
empires that have been and will be,
Fear, Peace
Ambition, Want
Tragedy, Love...
they dig their vicious claws into the land
and savagely claim their territory.

And we, the lonely traveler, the nomad
merely wander through these nations
living under their rule and obeying their law
until we uproot ourselves,
unsatisfied with the ways of this realm
and greedily move to the next

Wanting, waiting, wishing
to find a land in which we are meant to dwell
so desperately trying to belong to fields,
Fields of Loss, or Gain
of Obsession, or Content

And we live and die in these foreign lands
no map to follow, no road to walk
nothing but the whisper of our hearts
tricking us to follow the curved path
the enchanted path that our heart says will lead to mystical objects,
Treasures of Fate and Destiny,
Riches of True Love, and Meant-to-Be

We live for moments as insignificant and fleeting as footprints in the sand dunes
barely able or wanting to recall when they were there, why they were there

Merchants and prophets belonging to empires of Desperation and Guile and Greed
selling maps that lead nowhere, talking in tongues understood by no one,
claiming to know who you are
claiming to know, of all things, where you belong, what land holds your name.
What land holds your name?