In this darkened interlude
of earth and sky
and its kaleidoscope of light
I see the irony

there’s comfort in the handprint of man
but none in the icy coldness
of the void beyond
where its suns shed no warmth

are our feelings only pasted
within the thinness of our earthly envelope
where raindrops birth and drop
and wash them all away

what worth has our ambition
our quest for brief bits of truth
when we perish in a wink of fate
and descendants know us not