• In all my shrouded memories,
    There’s one I’ve grown a longing for.
    It’s somewhere past the eye can see,
    I cannot see it, still

    And once my mind begins to look
    For what I’ve grown a longing for,
    My eyes perceive what’s yet been took
    By others who long more.

    They waste away their eager minds
    To view what they’ve been longing for:
    A sad attempt to try and find
    Their exorbitant door.

    And once they find this memory
    In which they’ve grown a longing for,
    This divine image starts to flee
    Far past the eye can see.

    But in a moment’s glare I find
    What I’ve been ever longing for,
    The ever lasting point in time
    In which I’d seek no more

    But as I viewed the memory
    In that which I’d been longing for
    There’s nothing past the eye can see
    And I can see no more.