A Traveler's Tempest.

Drenched in sweat, with a bated breath,
Trudging long in an embrace of death,
Waking dreams and lonely screams,
without the tiniest of gleam,
Is what is destined for this lonely being.

Floating clouds in a sky so high,
Without a glimmer of an ally,
Swimming in the clouds alpine,
Is not for every weak spine,
So swimming alone is the destined sign.

Flowing streams and swirling minds,
Will thy keep his  cognition blind,
Nothing stable and  nothing kind,
Will only lead to an empire lined,
Waiting for itself to be inclined,
Towards an eternal decline.

Fanatics and phrases go hand in hand,
But in deep dark places they always band,
For groups of more they shall be weak,
and for one or none it shall be bleak,
The future belongs to us all,
How we shape it shall lead to a rise or fall.

So hence the lonely traveller goes,
The tempest raging in his heart,
The storms thundering in his mind,
Confused but determined,
To make his worth know to thine.