A memory upon the sand, changing swift as night and day.
Nothing real and nothing planned.
All the details swept away.

This place knows no clock.
No spinning wheel.
No drum can beat the time.
No path will ever reach an end.
The sun will never rise.

No ending will one ever reach, until the very end.
When life itself is ended, and new life can begin.
But an ending is no comfort, no rest for weary mind.
An end is but a starting place, a new path to divine.

I see the halls of certainty, so constant and so true.
But they always must elude me, and elude they'll always do.
The only certainty that exists is that there's always something new.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Daedalan, in the year 349 AF.