Placid waters silent still,
encased in panes of sunshine,
through which I see slow-moving lands,
riddled with knolls hollowed by time.
Tumultuous sounds deafened by my own,
hooves and laughter and blacksmith clangs;
puritanic dismissals meets frail subsistence,
and still I’m running, running into mighty pangs.
Unbroken ground slithers under feet,
though the world seems ever constant,
I try to run from all I see,
though everything follows in an instant.
I accelerate my pace to an abundant extreme,
my heart the one to wander,
of water and landscapes and creatures and else,
until you’re dragged asunder.