Whispers of the Mapmaker

He walks not for distance, but for truth,

Where rivers meet silence and windmills spin proof.

His heart is stitched with places, not things,

A collector of whispers, of echoes, of wings.

He has spoken vows beneath cathedral skies,

He’s kept his silence where the rivers sigh.

He knows that pain writes deeper than gold,

Yet still moves forward — gentle, and bold.

He will build — with metal, code, and flame,

But never forget that soul powers the name.

Through circuits and scripts, through valleys and trade,

He’ll sculpt his own legend — not bought, but made.

There is a mountain that only he can see,

Its summit is called: what was meant to be.

And though storms may break, and betrayals bend,

He is one of the few who finish the end.