The nine realms of space
Captured by the flowing golden sands,
Brought upon a new place
Where the human might stand.
The hourglass flips.

A new day, began.
Will man survive
In an unknown land?
But he stands still,
Cold and brittle.

The flame of life diminishing
Little by little.
He is lost in a world
Of new and change,
Familiar stars,
Now distant, strange.

The traveler's journey:
To walk or to crawl,
To travel a distance
Too big or too small.

His feet leave no mark
On this shifting dune,
Beneath alien suns
And a hollow moon.

He listens for echoes
That never reply,
Wind that blows loud
Under the fractured sky.

Yet some mortal thread lives
In that thing he calls skin,
Not fully alive
But not wholly dead.

As the golden sands turn,
As the threads get cut,
As the memories fade,
As his body turns to dust—

Echoes will live on
Where the human might stand,
But bodies will get turned
Into the new golden sands.