Take hold, all-seeing eye
of infinite cosmic aesthetics.
Invite my soul into the mysterious
encompassing wisdom of
what I will never become.
Surrounded by lesser lights
that overpower from
oh so far away.
Then again, your light
is not truly yours,
but a mere mirage of
So float along, in this
unyielding waltz to oblivion
with the world.
I will gaze from afar in
numbing calm and serenity
at a scene too beautiful to ignore
and too grand to destroy.
Such is the fate of the moon,
a simple complement to a higher light,
a million reflections that make up
one lie told in grandeur.
Let the false light wash over like
a cooling tide or warming wind,
surprising the senses with unexpected pleasure.
The collective of life is nothing more
than a collective of self-imposed delusions,
but as beautiful as they may be,
one cannot shake the inevitable emptiness
that consumes us all,
all consuming to the end,
as it's always been.