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Nicole Bataclan Mar 2012
A nomad's home is the road
His favorite spot, the window.
The eyes wander constantly
Heightened by their vicinity.

A nomad adores people
To his travels, they're fuel.
Differences is what he seeks
A common ground is what they'll reach.

It's a nomad's addiction
Have this world leave an impression.
He'll get smitten with a place
Set off, but not without a trace.

It's a nomad's prerogative
To venture, for him, is to live.
Memories in his suitcase
New experience, he'll embrace.

     For a nomad, it never stops
     There's no such thing as enough.
     Globe-trotting is a purpose
     This nomadic life he chose.
Jennifer Apr 2016
I am a wanderlust nomad,
moving constantly from the empty, black hole,
to the radiant, shining cradle in my mind's eye.

I am a surviving nomad,
balancing the sword on the tip of my heart,
keeping it from cutting its delicate flesh.

I am a nostalgic nomad,
making trips back and forth in the
box of memories that I have chained them to.

I am always a solitary nomad,
searching, exploring and investigating,
the beautiful and ugly portions of
my  multi-dimensional soul
Travelling beyond the borders of the soul, but within the borders of my geographical location
My divulging outcries should
match the anguished weeks we've had. I've deceived all of
you with obscured replies, and now this distrustful person
I am is hard to understand. But you see, I can't decipher myself,
for I'm a traveler of my own heartbreak. A nomad without a map, searching for this knack to surviving. Deserted on scattered land, and each fighting "I'm okay" evolves me more lost. An unsolvable destination to which discovered, I may uncover a pumping, breathing new body and fresh spirit clean of a blemished memory. Deprived and striving; I'm holding on for that revival of flared hope, to where I cope with these thoughts in a better way. How long can you
thrive on nothing?
Will I last today?
----------------------
I hold everything in, and then I break. No one gets what I'm feeling, because it usually happens a long time beforehand.
Nomad Jul 2018
The hardest part
of a Nomad's heart
is the intoxicating lust after
adventure.

Nothing that money could ever buy
nothing that no other love could ever satisfy
than for someone with a Nomad's heart to see the sky
and want for
more.

The Nomad travels light, only carries what they need
And everywhere they go
they plant a little seed.

A small dream that one day
they will plant their roots
and have something magnificent grow up in while they yet live
but to a Nomad's heart
a seed for where they've been
is all that they can
give.

So travel on Nomad
may your feet and heart never tire
may your days be long, and your nights be cool
and may you always chase that everlonging
desire.
Brian Oarr Jan 2013
In those days all thinking took place in his heart.
It had no favorite suburb, no shelter that was home,
immersed, as he was, in the Mojave of humanity,
memories of only former places through which he'd drifted.

Yes, there were women, storms of passion, brevity in bed.
Today, they only took him back in time,
reconstructing scenarios more of actions never taken.
Bedposts served as bivouacs for the nomad.

Here in this desert water assumes a circumstance,
the nomad becoming as fond of it as ambition.
Here silence need not be kept at bay, rather welcomed in,
though it looks down upon him in uncertainty.

Out there on the horizon he hears a sigh,
a mother tongue corresponding to his own.
John K Trainer May 2014
Soul
Alive, astir
Gliding, enshroud, obscure
Awaken my tormented soul
Nomad
A cinquain poem
Morgan Mercury Oct 2013
Where are your wings now?
How can they save you now?
Left alone, barely able to stand on your own two feet.
You walk a thousand miles down a dirt road
finding hunger along the way.
You drink a gallon of water for the first time
so everything in the world stops and leaves you breathless.
You can't believe the feeling of pain and dwell in sorrow
over something, you can't control.
You set the world on fire but never knew how to use a match.
Now you're a nomad dreaming of meeting someone who will help you put out the flames
but instead, everyone glares at you while walking around in their ashes.

And if you knew what you know now nothing would have changed,
and everything would be in its place.
You wish to undo what has been done
but you have a heavy soul
surrounded by mountains and oceans.
So let the sun die down
and let the morning pour in hope of anew to come.

You used to be a beautiful angel
but now your grace has been ripped out.
Now you're a human
with ***** feet,
a hard soul,
broken wings,
and scarred and cut skin
you wish to just be left behind.
Let the wind take you and lead you
across the winding roads,
into the hands, you solely search for to help and to hold.
The only hands that can make you feel whole and holy,
even without a halo.
Castiel
Supernatural
2013
Chenoa Jul 2010
His gait is like the sea,
a steady rise and fall,
when once he greeted me
last summer, I recall.
‘Twas once a fleeting spark
there ‘neath the willow boughs
where chimed the sassy lark
and sun allowed me drowse.
But nomad was he then,
and traveler still now--
for gone he was again
with no “I’ll see you” vow.
A fortnight passes thru
--no promise of his face--
and time is timed by two
when once more enters grace.
For Summer wind is odd,
and once again with it
Returns that fair façade--
The princely, I admit.
Greetings last mere moments,
I’m told they often do,
But in them remnants sleep
For future seconds new—
Rejoin the instants passed
when troubles seem to scorn
and obstacles steadfast
across your path adorn;
From moments such as these
much comfort can be drawn:
Mem’ries of beauties,
softest touches now gone.
For me, that one embrace,
The one from nomad, dear,
Of sweetest scents I trace
And ringing laughter hear—
No other pair of arms
could hold me closer still
no other voice thus warms
a deeper winter’s chill.
It was written about someone that I didn't expect to ever see again, but was fortunate to meet once more... at least for now.  you never really know about some people. Suddenly that saying by eleanore roosevelt carries new meaning for me: "Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends leave footprints in your heart."
Bobby Ray Bagley Jul 2015
Yellow Brick Road
Land of OZ
Lion scared
Scarecrow crazy
TinMan struggling
Wizard gizmo mugging.

Homeless man
Traveling man
Nomadic man
Had to go.

Left more in Kansas
Than he brought
******* feelings
Totally out of control.

All that searching
Never ever knew
Garden of Eden
Mona Lisa dancing
Lake Wilson trancing
Nomad confused
Gone distracted.

4 years drifting
Always on the road
Never realizing
Never knowing
Never analyzing
Never caring
For what did he know.

TinMan found his heart
TinMan lost his heart
Nomad down
******* Yellow Brick Road.
mûre Mar 2015
You were a nomad in all things
and every time you'd roll your caravan to town
holding a backpack and beating your drum
you'd reach out your hand
which could grip like electricity
so we'd set out together
us gypsy lovers
like birds that chase each other on the wind
and we'd **** the world with our charm
intoxicate with our savoir-faire
until the seasons changed
and you realized that howling at the moon
was a one man job
you bit and you scratched until
wailing, I threw you back into the wild
where you could have it all
your solitude and
your precious moon.
Ah, grief changes like seasons. The bitterness has arrived, n'est pas?
I used to whisper stories to the asphalt,
wanting to be anywhere but the city
I lived in.
Passing overhead green signs became routine to me,
I saw them more than birds swooping across civilian streets.
I would drive until I felt at home--
no wonder I still feel unsettled.
I am a modern nomad.
A human vagabond.
As I drove,
counting time in white lines passing
and days in rearview mirror sunsets
I'd beg to the roads,
"Find a life for me, freeway."
This was inspired by Flux Pavilion - Freeway
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
Just caught outside
Still broken inside
Never have I seen
What true light is like
Just caught outside
Still broken inside
I pay my dues
To Father Time

Here I stand
A nomad

Cracked road, broken road
The place that I call home
This perfect place I’ve seen
I’m undeserving
Cracked road, broken road
The only road I’ve known
The one mistake I’ve seen
Is trying

Here I stand
A nomad

I’m on my own
With no one’s heart to hold
A lonely place to be
It suits me
I’m on my own
With no one’s heart to hold
Only now do I see
This is all that’s left for me

Here I stand
A nomad
On this journey called life, I'm surrounded by millions of travelers. But ultimately my journey is done alone.
Akhiz Munawar Apr 2014
Like a dry autumn

Leaf

Flying place to place

Making home

Anywhere

Or like a gypsy

Roaming the earth

Deserts

Cities

Forests

Following the

Stars or

The fortune

Content at any change

I wish you my Heart

You were a leaf

Or a gypsy

A wandering spirit

A nomad

Vagabond

But you of all

Chose to be

A Swan
The swan is the most dedicated creature on earth, they choose one partner in their life and if the partner dies the swan remains single the rest of its life.
John K Trainer May 2015
How many good memories have I destroyed?
Each one, a treasure to another
A string of pearls
And like the portrait of two lovers
I chose to bow out
In remembrance, I have ruined many lives
A kindly soul allowing me to merge
But I was never fully integrated
Always looking to egress at the slightest transgression
I fear I have doomed many an honest spirit
To think hard of me and my character
It would have been better if they had never set eyes upon me
And continued on their journey, unencumbered
Never knowing the name of this lost nomad
kyle dionysus Jul 2017
Maybe I am just a nomad, a mere wanderer with no home, always walking, running-away from my reality, and the reality is that I am a nomad, a lone wolf that forms a part of many packs, but would rather wonder alone, onwards, to a path unknown, to a new pack, that I will soon leave to begin again.
Miko May 2013
I love to sleep
I pretend I forget
I take it in doses
pretending I’m dead
and as I awake
It’s a shun just to know
that I’m ****** into the next day
with nothing to show
except empty lined pockets
turned out just to tell
running from this life
with soles smooth as hell
I neglect all ambition
and travel on foot
a shadow for companion
and at nights I take note
that this is not the last time
that I will fill this void
with ripped up repeats
and pieces that don’t fit
into my life
I’m a traveling band
that plays music so solemn
a soundtrack to my days
spent reused and for joy
written on misuse
and caution signs beware
that one day ill find you
and you won’t believe
the way my eyes scream for help
and you’re the air that I breathe
I’m more than depressed
more than they say
and your time won’t be wasted
on a misfit like me
I’m more than broken
I’m more than just the surface
because I used to lose control
I misplaced the intentions
but now I’m waiting here blind folded
bracing my self
waiting for the gun to go off
hoping ill be blown away
and I’ll wake up
look into that mirror
and know that someday
I’ll hear someone whisper…
“You’re the one”
Cole Atkinson Apr 2011
there's a man across the street,
walking real casually
past the coffee shops and consignment stores,
hands stuffed in the pockets
of his black track jacket,
and he's whistling.

i watch him from the other side,
this lackadaisical nomad,
all sunshine and songbirds.
he's whistling his persona
in this transient fiction,
past his rippling reflections
in the shop windows,
all the while believing them to be
shifting images in god's great eye--
just one more happy creation.
Megan Milligan Aug 2011
You wonder why you can’t crack
The combination lock to my heart.
You wonder why you can’t steal
The treasures safeguarded inside.

You see me through the hazy fog,
And you reach for me.
But your hand passes through the mist,
Holding onto nothing.
And as fast as I come, I’m gone.

I’m a nomad.
I live off the land.
I change with the hour,
Switching directions without warning.
Forever a wanderer.
(1993)
(rev. 8-17-2001)

First poem I ever wrote in high school, from some song lyrics I attempted.
Paul Rousseau May 2012
I want to move
Like the nomad
Like the no-man’s
Land stretching from pinky to thumb
Enthusiasm kills quick like none
Other ideas pushed a side
Of the moon that never gets old
Man train of thought
I would never grow this
Oppressive




                                4 corners
gd Sep 2016
Sometimes I find myself searching
and searching
for pieces of myself that
I've never really wanted in the first place.

And I'll keep that pamphlet,
and I'll cherish that trinket,
and I'll store that bus ticket
just for safe keeping.

And I'll sleep for hours
to see if I can find
what I've lost
in my subconscious

but over
and over again
I find things I never wanted
in the first place

and I'll throw them into the sea
only to swim back to shore,
too late and too far gone
to realize I'm going to have to jump back in.

And maybe I'm talking in circles
and maybe I never really belonged
anywhere
other than where I sleep for the night

Or wherever I decided to
set foot to scavenge
for any remains of myself
that I took for granted.

Maybe a nomad
only finds peace
at the edge of losing everything.
Or maybe they never find peace at all.

gd
Slam Dec 2016
I was walking by the isle
Drifting through the sea
Finding a river
Looking for a tree
Then a thought of a home

Forever be finding?
Never good for settling
They called me ****** heart
I say nomad

I fought to live
I took the rocks filled the walls
Finding a soul
Trying to call the places a home
But their just houses
I am nomad
Shazz Manji Apr 2014
Remain in a state of wonder
that cannot be comprehended
by those around you
Be one with the earth
as a wandering soul
wide eyed
free
and changing
Wol
A baby sea turtle in my hands:
the outer islanders call him Wol,
he will be a nomad, if anyone will.
What will the world look like to him?
Will he dream of killer whales,
those Swiss Cake Rolls of the sea?
Of winning the three hearts
of an octopus?
See what the turtle sees,
and rejoice.

The sea turtle, like the human, cries saltwater
and the tears cover two-thirds of the earth.
He risks pirate ship, cigarette boat, Chinese net.
He mistakes bait for food. (Who doesn’t?)
But he can swim away from; swim towards:
India, Mombasa, New Zealand, Ulithi.
The world's a turtle’s home,
why is anyone a nomad if not for this?
See what the turtle sees
and rejoice, carrying only
the markings on your shell.

A jungle.
A shack.
Half a moon.
Islands sprinkled like tiny green beads
across the Water of the Sky.
A first tattoo—seven little turtles--
and it hurts in a good way
like the world does.
Dear Creator
keep me from evil
keep my life
keep my going out and my coming in
Meratag forever
AM Jan 2017
The Nomad

She sat in the shore of the sea, she needed to breathe.
She wondered if the waves that kissed her feet, were the same that waved his ship.
She thought back at his body’s silken glaze,
And how it would luster on the linen shades.

He wanted a lady, fresh from a family home
But he had no idea about her nomadic soul.
And little did he know about the abyss in her heart,
And how she dreamed of discovering the stars.

He got a woman possessed by the world,
And all he had built for them was never her home.
He found her lady, but she wouldn’t carry pearls and a cross
For the crowds was her peace and in their wonder she would get lost.

One night she took a road trip to the beach,
Hoping that the sea would satiate her gypsy dreams
And as she touched the salty water, she wondered if he could see her face in all of those ports,
For she whispered her good-byes and hoped the waves would deliver her love.

*
AM
jane taylor Jun 2016
fly
born in illusory chains
gnarled metal
encrusted in my broken skin
the copper colored dust
of rusted steel
infectiously envelopes

shaving off antiquated layers
of fundamentalist religion
encrusted for generations
unpeeled until raw
an unsophisticated method
unveiling
ancient lodged glass shards
colored with deceit

brought before their court
interrogated
unfathomably skewered
an eerie salem witch trial
in modern times

barbarically they shun me
banished
i wander aimlessly
smelling the rotten decay of deceased community
as splinters pierce my feet
from the crooked wooden plank
i walk alone now

an unfathomable inner ache
kindled a residue within
igniting a wildfire from the darkest shadows
uncontainably erupting
i dance savagely
naked in the orange moonlight
and in every shaded edge
lit my soul ablaze

i am a nomad sheep
‘tho not one of their color
no pasture to contain me
no shepherd i can follow
theological safety nets
no longer there to catch me
bohemian-like
i plunge

free falling
plummeting
stripped wide open
magically
fearlessness
reverses gravitation

floating
untethered
i soar amongst
apricot tinged clouds
my skin still wet from rebirth
and rise with the flaming coral sun

you cannot destroy me
i twisted in your decrepit pencil sharpener
and with fresh mettle
cut through the chains that bound

you can have my ego
but you cannot have my soul

dismantling domestication
transcending limitation
wildly untamed
i fly

©2016janetaylor
my husband and i left the mormon church and lost many friends, family, and community
Corvus Apr 2017
Stars sprinkle the inky night sky
Like crumbs of diamonds on a still, midnight ocean.
I am not afraid to be here, alone,
In the vastness of twilight.
For these few moments, time is as long
As the space between those stars,
And as empty, too.
The uncertainty that sunrise will follow.
As sure as the sun is destined to rise everyday,
When there's only darkness surrounding you,
Pierced slightly by the silvery glow of moonlight...
You're all alone and helpless.
You only have the vague hope that the sun will return.
And as I sit here now, star-gazer,
Faceless nomad on the damp grass;
I feel immortal, and I am afraid
That I will always be alone with the stars.
Alyssa Dec 2013
I have never felt so alone
or distant from the human world
in my entire life.
I don't have my life together
and the more i try to grab at the seams to pull it together,
the faster the stitches break.
I look like i'm playing a game of Jacks;
i drop the ball
and i see how many things i can grab
before the ball bounces back down
but i've grabbed too many things
and they're falling through my fingers.
I feel like a torture victim
with a wet cloth over my face
and pouring a gallon of water on me,
sputtering water out of my mouth and gasping for air.
I don't belong to anyone;
no friends
no love
no one.
I am a nomad trailing through the west
stopping at the villages for food
and then continuing my uncertain journey
almost hoping to die so this will be over.
I think a lot about killing myself,
not like a point on a map but rather
like a glowing exit sign at a show that's never been
quite bad enough to make me want to leave.
But i keep telling myself that
the sunrise will come
all i have to do is wake up.
But that's the problem,
i don't wake up because i don't sleep
and when you don't sleep you can't have dreams
and you always promised me that you'd see me in them.
But now
i close my eyes and think of you
i imagine what you look like in your sleep.
They say that when you can't sleep
you are awake in someone else's dreams
and i'm hoping that's what caused the insomnia.
I feel detached from my body
almost like a zombie that feeds on sadness and pride;
i can't swallow back either of those
long enough to tell you i love you.
This journey has gotten too terrifying to continue much longer
i apologize for the short notice
but i think i want to die today.
The show might finally be over,
everyone else seems to be getting out of their seats to leave
and i might just have to follow.
As the immense dew of Florida
Brings forth
The big-finned palm
And green vine angering for life,

As the immense dew of Florida
Brings forth hymn and hymn
From the beholder,
Beholding all these green sides
And gold sides of green sides,

And blessed mornings,
Meet for the eye of the young alligator,
And lightning colors
So, in me, comes flinging
Forms, flames, and the flakes of flames.
Tanay Sengupta Jul 2018
I wish I would have been a nomad,
I would have travelled to the places no one had.
I wish I was a voracious reader,
Books would have helped me to forget her.
If life would not have been such a mystery,
It would have been easy to forget my history.
I wish I was another wanderlust
In a world which seems to forget so fast.
I never wanted to be like me.
I wish I was not me!








Tanay Sengupta, Copyright © 2018. All Rights Reserved.
Another simple poem from this small and simple person. I hope you enjoy reading it. Cheers!
K Balachandran Dec 2018
Crazy nomad soul
Finds sanctuary tranquil
In poetic flights!
Rianna Feb 2016
I am like a void
An endless abyss
I try not to fall
But sometimes I miss
In the end
I am leaving you behind
And if I cross your mind
Please remember my friend
This was not your fault
So don't ever feel sad
I was a ticking time bomb
A great nomad
I wanted to explore
But not of this land
In the end
I was given life
But what I sought was certain death
This sounds more depressing than what I had intended.
Nomad ,
a wanderer ,
never remaining static .

One at home
with their environment .

At peace with their creator .
Probably made
from shooting stars .
Valsa George May 2018
Through the country paths, I lazily loitered,
watching Nature in its changing hue
straying farther into the interiors,
sundry and sublime vistas came into view.

in response to zephyr’s warm embrace,
the silvery leaves joyously fluttered.
the bees busied themselves collecting pollen
and birds on tree tops merrily chattered

it was the *** end of verdant spring.
summer’s sun stood behind my head.
bleat of sheep was heard from far.
‘Good day to you’….. Someone said.

There stood on the hill, a boy around fifteen
obviously he was of tribal breed.
with a beaming smile, he greeted me
but on walking to him, he ran like a steed

I saw him disappear behind the trees
and enter into a hut tiny as a nest
he lived in the lap of Mother Nature,
far from the city and its sooty dust

being coaxed, he hesitantly came out.
my tone of assurance and pleasing smile,
seemed to have won his confidence
as to a friend, he shared his eventful tale.

pointing to the sheep grazing in the *****,
he said, he earned a living caring the flock.
he stayed in the woods all day long,
feeding and tending his master’s sheep.

from dawn to dusk, through woods and meads,
he leads his sheep, calling them by their name.
un vexed, with simple pleasures he is content
and with a nomad’s life, he seems to be tame

he said, at home he has his invalid mother.
bringing her back to health is his mission in life
on referring to his mother, I watched his eyes glitter
nothing other than her illness posed to him a strife

from every utterance, I could sense his filial love.
even in abundance, while shadows line many faces,
on his visage, hope lingered as a dancing flame
to me he seemed above many, rich in other graces!

While parting, I handed him a little money
pausing unbelievably, with moist eyes
he accepted it, when a breeze passed caressing us
as if over a kind gesture, Nature seemed to rejoice!
This was written sometime ago based on a real incident with a sprinkle of imagination ! The boy with his cheerful disposition in the face of adversities continues to be an inspiring memory!
Diane Jun 2013
The aura of your spirit precedes you
Calling out insight and energy
It swirls around you, hanging above
Like a singular beam of light
And you tread on instinct;
seeing with your eyes closed
Universe amalgamated;
a conduit for its voice
And you tell the tales of your old soul
And you tell the tales of your purpose and journey
But a broken hearted boy haunts you
The one who ran away and no one cared
So you tear at your feelings
as they hold you under
Gasping for air in the oxygen of escape
But it wears off
It always wears off
And you forget how exquisitely you are made
But one day, you will make peace with the boy
And suture the bleeding holes in your heart
And the footsteps of this nomad will climb
to see how much bigger your world can become
and that some dreams are built very far from our homes
Because at this moment, living inside of you
is the energy that makes a good night a good night
Helsy Flores Jan 2016
He was a nomad
He never stayed put in one place
Before he went mad
He would leave without a trace

But all this freedom came at a price
He had no place to call home
Nothing would ever suffice
All he did was roam and roam

He belonged to no one
He would spend his days at the gym
Yet he would most nights sleep alone
Because, you see, nobody belonged to him

And no love would last
Or even begin
And dear friends were left in the past
Along with what could've been

I guess the worst part was
Getting home with success
And hear not a single applause
Nor find a beautiful girl in a dress
January 30, 2016
Emma Jenny Aug 2015
no mad man
would loose
everything to follow
something that he could not touch
hear or see
taste or even swallow

no mad man
would ever choose
to let a good life slip away

one that had meaning.
one that was leading

to a path that
would not lead him far astray

yet,
a nomad.
would loose
everything to follow
someone that has touched him
listened
saw him in his deepest sorrow

But no mad man
could be that mad.

to give up his life,
surrender himself,
and call his journey

Nomad.
Daniel Sandoval Jan 2013
Guttural screams and the ****** beating churns all the more.
Walking west into the dying light, shadows linger about waiting to seize the Earth in their pseudo claws.
Twenty three miles to the next roadside solace, oasis of vending machine illumination,
the sickly sweet scent of ***** and pine trees, tall in the valley.
A symphony of dusk plays all around, echoes drive the wanderer ever forward, beyond the thin fabric of the known,
just outside the small town, big city, back yard chaos.
Letting the cards fall, jack of spades pops out his proud visage, lays in waiting to slay the king of diamonds and run with his rusted red crown. These are the dreams that stalk his mind, the arrowhead of onyx stone, seeking out the stag's flesh...
Awakes beneath a jagged tin roof on a bed of dead brown needles, damp from the night's war...
shadows are losing their grip as new life rises, standing with creaking joints, sore eyes.
Healing blisters in his worn down dime store boots that cling once more to the asphalt ,cool with the morn's wet kiss.
Nicotine courses through the veins alongside interstate twenty, as the faint remains of ash float over the lips to open air.
Once more the chatter falls silent, the invisible waves of a billion words gone as the road stretches out, mountains rise in the distance and there God sits, waiting...
Daniello Mar 2012
I would die to say here, truthfully,
splaying my arms round as the sky,
this, this! is how it is possible to live
and not sink under a faint surface,
and not run, windfaced, against a distance,
and not lay down, weary as nothing.

This is how it is possible for us
to look without shaking skin or heads
or blenching eyes, writhing like mangrove
limbs in this incomprehensible slough.
To live as discovery of life and still not know
if ever we were born, or when, if ever, we’ll have
died.

But to you, I cannot say this, truthfully.
My person is not truthful. It has a voice
you hear through air in the daytime, I am
not truthful to you. Else I would be
fringes of all time
stretched. You cannot see me, truthfully.

I am ground movement, just under, welling
untouchable imperative unattainable.
Are you bound by the point to create
your own destruction, as I? Then proclaim it
yourself, truthfully, waving your fresh
roots out to me, soil juiced and ripely plucked.

I will try to remember crossing the plains from
dawn till dusk, before I made the world fragile.
If I do, I will dissolve, and will come out your
breath, speaking truthfully. But will you remember
too? So that, disappeared, I may find you?
I would not have to die, then, truthfully.

— The End —