Echoes of the Unfinished

Echoes of the Unfinished Youth's swift current, hurrying to the sea, Leaves marks upon the soul, for all to see. Many watch dreams recede, like distant sails, And hold to shadows when the daylight fails. Yet some stand firm, though aged by the sun, Their spirit's battle, far from truly done. They know how swiftly joy can slip away, And how illusions falter, day by day. Old eyes have seen the falsehoods life can spin, And question why the heart still lets them in. They ponder justice, a forgotten art, If bitter tides will ever truly part. The fiery passions of a younger mind, Seem distant echoes, left so far behind. The urgent cries for change, a fading tune, Beneath the quiet of the crescent moon. The soul that poured itself, a flowing stream, To mend the broken, live a selfless dream, Can find itself alone, when evening nears, Confronting burdens from uncounted years. No time to gather, no new craft to gain, Just solitude, alongside lingering pain. Yet in the depths, where twilight softly falls, An old heart sees beyond the world's harsh walls. A universe of stars, a silent, vast delight, And hears the ocean's whisper, in the night. A deep, old murmur, rising from the core, "Awake, my spirit, sail to sea once more. For life still beckons, though the hour is late, Embrace the promise, at the final gate."

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