We are but a dream, a moment's fright
In Earth's deaf, ever-changing breast.
We fancy we create God's light,
Yet driftwood washed up from the crest.
We deem our reason is the king
Beneath the moon, a world to rule,
That we to heavens our thoughts can fling,
And weave eternity as fuel.
We see our grandeur stretch for years,
A monument to our design.
But in that night, the chilling fears
Of a void where our beacons shine.
A frightful chasm in that dark,
Where our false lighthouse fades to grey.
Our song is bitter, frail and stark —
A bright flash doomed to fray away.
Aether's impulse. Our brief age
Is but a tremor, a faint sigh
Before a star's expiring stage,
As its cold void consumes the sky.
And yet. As we dissolve in black,
In blind defiance of our fate,
We spin the thread of fire, we knit our space
Above the mute and deaf abyss.
We are but a dream...
© Copyright: Елена Ли 5, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126100303943
Свидетельство о публикации №126100303943
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