Nameless wanderer,
born of sin,
only to be born once again.
The petals of a flower,
touched by the morning dew,
droplets of earth's first life,
in ode to you.
Never gazing upon the eye of the unseen,
shallow wanderings peering beyond the sea.
The beauty of life, the shallow pits of death,
the soft caress of feathers, along mother earth's breast.
Is there are notion of what lies ahead,
or are we merely beings that long to be fed
by natures calling and unjustified abuse,
the repercussions of man demise,
the unconscious frames of a hangman's knot.
Across the distinctive crevaces of the a nation's binding.
The blooming of life,
 and shallow reminding,
 of what could have been ,
or should have been once before,
the simple frame of constant changes,
evolving framing of and inner workings of man,
how can one exist without noticing the grain of sand,
that lay so elegantly beneath our feet,
the sharp callouses of life that shard the ocean's deep.
As the bellows of our souls transform gracefully,
yet elegantly before the spirit,
so does the transformation of the one's mind, 
perhaps as humans we should think about the transgression of time.