Beyond the Horizon: Steps into the Unknown

I.
Each footfall breaks new earth —
virgin soil crumbling beneath tentative steps,
while familiar ground recedes
like tide-drawn waters.

II.
The known world shrinks
to a postage stamp of memory,
pressed between pages
of what was and what might be.

III.
Here, in the borderlands,
where mapmakers’ hands trembled
and drew serpents in the margins,
possibility blooms like night flowers —
persistent, wild, untamed.

IV.
The horizon is not a line
but a perpetual unfolding,
each step forward revealing
new geometries of wonder,
new theorems of courage.

V.
What strange mathematics
govern these unmapped territories?
What calculations of spirit
measure the distance between
terror and transcendence?

VI.
Perhaps this is how birds feel
in their first descent from the nest —
gravity a theory
until wings remember
their ancient covenant with air.

VII.
Beyond the last lamppost,
past the final fingerpost,
where compass needles spin
in desperate circles,
truth waits in the darkness
like a patient star.

VIII.
And we —
eternal pilgrims,
permanent pioneers,
cartographers of the impossible —
place one foot
before the other,
writing our names
in footprints
that tomorrow’s wind
will sweep away.