A pounding heart, veins alive with speed,
Grief weighs heavy, yet hope plants a seed.
Even blindfolded, the thrill remains,
Like the endless sky, shifting and untamed.

It burns red, the brilliance of the setting sun,
Yet lingers soft, like spring air just begun.
A maze of echoes, of past and new,
Do I chase the end—or lose mys helf in view?