Diogenes carried me without owning me. Zeno could never finish crossing me. Borges filled me with libraries, yet left me unexplored. Empires claimed me, cartographers scarred me. I am measured but never held, occupied yet never grasped, divided but never cut. Every kingdom begins with me, and every grave receives me. What am I?

I can have holes, but I'm no sponge I can have armor, but I'm no knight I'm where you're scheduled to be buried If you've lost me, you don't know what you're doing

I thrive in chaos, And bring ruin to everything I touch. The wind is my instrument, As I play the songs of destruction. Hide low and pray I don't sweep you away, While I grow with each spin, And take everything I touch with me.

I’m less than mountains, more than the plains, a gentle rise through grass or rain.

I have a heartbeat made of traffic, a voice made up of countless tongues. Though built of stone, glass, and steel, I seem alive to everyone.