Words have such a funny little way
Of saying just enough
A means through which the end conveys
Intangible dimension stuff
Composed of immaterial
Surrealist bits and pieces
Decomposing in ethereal
Extinction level species
At the pinnacle of pensive
We incessantly conceive
Perceptions formed in the defense of
Higher beings we believe
And often give it all to see
Their rightful place among the stars
And as we fell the final tree
We do it all again on Mars
As discontent with our successes
As we are amidst the bliss
Of failure’s most enlightened guesses
To elucidate what any of this
Is...