A Vestigial Mote
Well-Known Member
Its grip is strong, compelled and long,
With a slight, strange "maybe" more.
Its targets reaped are forever steeped
In the realm of hope and lore.
A stunning end, itself unending.
A path that has no trail.
Yet all of us prone to pretending
We spin that path's true tale.
Come end of run, our hopes undone,
The truth that's to be found?
That we were wrong all our day long.
No more, nor less, profound.
With a slight, strange "maybe" more.
Its targets reaped are forever steeped
In the realm of hope and lore.
A stunning end, itself unending.
A path that has no trail.
Yet all of us prone to pretending
We spin that path's true tale.
Come end of run, our hopes undone,
The truth that's to be found?
That we were wrong all our day long.
No more, nor less, profound.