LogFAQs > #966164174

pilot

At dawn, the veil of Thought may lift
Beyond mundane abstraction,
And bless'ed be the one who takes
The Folly of Old to heart:

A pitied lil' June bug, striving on
For but the briefest moment,
Banging 'gainst the wall forever
Beneath the doorstep's sconce.

And as the firelight slowly dims -
A herald of Fruitless Chasm -
The mighty Flame submits to ash
And evermore to cinder.

For in that bleak, consuming dark
Where serpents feed on tales,
The Wretch may watch it's own light die
But for the faintest ember.