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

unused potential.

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.