there are faces behind every wisp of light. every
shadow has a name, wound around fine strands of hair
and softening sharp edges.
however small of stature, however grand of fame, neither
the moon nor the sun lasts forever. and take away
the craters, erase the sunspots and fill them in with
standard caulk, and are they not the same?
brightly burning, lit afire
with purpose, reigning over parallel dimensions?
never declare superiority. greater men have fallen
into power and then away, for writing their own histories.
yet this, too, shall be forbidden, for who
is the rightful judge of greatness? in crowning yourself
you have ascended in status but descended in power, and so. you
will level out, and remain the same. as will they,
and i in turn.
no one can travel while remaining in place. infinity
is a concept, not a number, and it can never
be reached. likewise, nothing is definitive. shed the
glamour and hang up honor, and we are all
blank pages, all of us
desperate, leaping and
crashing again and again onto the altar of the gods.