For a sailor without a port no wind is favorable. — Seneca
I may as well throw out my to-do list.
Those old tasks have no point now.
Lost, I don’t know
where I’m going, let alone
how to get there.
I’d like to fly away home,
but the ships in the harbor are burning.
The whole city is on fire,
books packed tightly
on their shelves
feel the lick of the flame.
Still, I know where I came from,
and even if the hollow eyes
of the monsters who lit the match
are glowing in the darkness,
I am not alone.
In the flickering light
I see you.
The Kingdom of Enough 