The Western Shore

You belong among the sun-crowned lands.

An ever-shifting masquerade.

Beneath lies hidden, the pride of kings,

Forgotten to your passing farewell.

–

A sea of endless possibility.

Outstretched beneath your unclenched palm.

No wonder we lock you in a glass,

And measure by, the hours to pass,

And whisper still : “momento mori”

–

Formless stone begets ageless earth.

Warnings from the western shore.

Weary waters take our oars,

And bear us to eternity.

–

What I am you too shall be.

By Set’s red hand,

And Horus’s left eye.

Together, in unwilling unity.

– Inevitability.

–

A time to live, and a time to die.

All is marked beneath your gaze.

One last grain, a heartfelt pain,

And a clarion call to the free.