In a quiet tributary of my mind,
Through dim backwaters sadly scathed by time,
I drift in futile quest of dreams long gone.

Through channels choked by guilt and overgrown
With ever-spreading tendrils of regret
I ceaselessly pursue the siren's song.

The mounting morning mists obscure the shore
As long-familiar landmarks slip from sight
And leave behind their scent that lingers on.

My ancient compass idly oscillates,
The sonar waves no more disclose the depths,
Transmissions garbled lure my skiff along.

The darkness will too rapidly descend,
My quest still unfulfilled too soon will end.

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