The ancient mariner

Where is the whole world going?
What is this obscure word
to which I cannot give a meaning?
Why is my being locked up
in a prison with no ceiling?
I can see the candour of clouds,
still my soul roams in the blackest maze.
At the gloomy clarity of my sin
is the furthest I can only gaze.
There is something missing
contained in my heart,
no way to get rid of it,
just like the culprit cannot escape
the haunting presence of the past.
And as I pass by the human race
I can see the wrinkles of the future
in the bald youth of the present.
Oh, how fast this poor life goes,
like a feather sucked in

by the wind when it blows.