Unequal

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One fateful day, morning, afternoon, night, maybe morning,
Time won't matter to you anymore, how it flies or passes,
Your journey of a thousand miles will have been covered,
A self-satisfaction of great achievement,
All the things you owned, fought for, and defended will be wrapped up for you.
And all you'll need to do is to find yourself a place of comfort.

That day will break forth but not like every other day;
It won't be silenced by the crowing of the Chief Cock,
Neither will Mother Bird run the hymnal tunes,
Rather, it will be a day that'll silence the sound itself.

The four walls of your circumference will lay in your palm,
You'll now be free from the tides and fights offshore,
You'll now be the boss of your island,
And nothing else will matter to you.
And when history plays, you will have empty pages filled with nobody writing.

And then you, you start to feel the emptiness, wishing to talk to someone.
Why? The void left in there won't just be filled by just fun.
But still, I'm sorry if it is hard for you to catch my vibe.
It is just the way I feel, and this is the way I can open up.

The actualization of that goal means you're now breathless,
And the saddled horses have ridden you far east,
The waking sun has shut its shot adjacent to your castle,
And the end of your story has just, of its accord, begun.

Unequal.