Power fades, but desperately we do seek
to hold the reigns of fate with blood stained hands,
the stench of selfishness we cannot beat,
a casualty of desire’s demands.
What truth is found in strength other than mass
relative to weight? What awareness lies
in the space between thoughts, where circumstance
demotes knowledge bereft of worldly ties?
As death looms in confident certainty,
we reflect on our foolish endeavors,
and fathom with a useless urgency
that love had been the greatest of pleasures.
All of our names, in time, will be erased,
hallowed are the moments we choose to taste.