I have one thousand years
Direct the men, they face their fears.
I see they have their tears
I guide them through, though not austere.
A vast and great expanse
A thousand year, galactic dance
The motions run their course
They fluctuate, with godly force.
I must not be too moved
Or recognize, the darkest moons.
The dance they all create,
Motions appear, determine fate.
To acknowledge the fact
I feel them too, no more intact.
They go back to their town
Identify, tears of a clown.
Waiting the rest of time
I try to feel, to feel their rhymes.
And so I've written this
A messenger, to see their bliss.
I've not identified
Although I've cried, for those who've died.
They found their final home.
The last expanse, of spacial roam.
They have their destiny
A place to be, that they can see
But what was meant for me
To only guide, but to not be.
