Your idealism burned your path
and led you there.
Your desire a burning scythe,
Scorching and hacking
anything you deemed pre-determined.

Only a few tried to stop you.
Only a few told you it was a foolish endeavour,
But you wouldn't hear of it.
Your ears filtered out contrary voices.
Your mind bias to your thoughts of absolute free-will
and its oxymoronic pursuit of a destiny.

And so you left.
Took off under your own power
Leaving a contrail in your wake
Stretching from an eternal West
to an eternal East.
A monochrome rainbow
Befittingly lacking in palette
as your tunnel vision
allowed for only one colour,
Not a mixture of hues and shades
That colour a normal youthful existence.

Although short and unfulfilled,
Your brief sojourn on this world
will be remembered.
Your life's contrail will hang in the sky:
A solitary mark on your life's canvas,
A testimony, not to your Quixotic mission,
But to the good that would have surely followed
the eventual demise of your romantic notions
of solving the world's problems.