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I played to the light, but
It wasn’t listening; there was not
A soul in sight save for you
And I do not know for sure
That you are even real
Today is the last of these
Visions portending closure
But I could wish for you and me
To subject these preposterous notions
To the annihilation of the rational
And the condemnation of the faithful
But then, what would we have
But the despairing shell of an illusion
Of a dream of contented freedom
When all else is no more
I never imagined that it would
Come to this final resting place
For the trinkets of our childish minds
And the old photographs we
Couldn’t keep because they
Said they didn’t want them around
How contemptible that it should end
This way, and yet we somehow find
Our peace here among the ruins
Of our volition in this affair
For surely there was never something
Of the sort in the matter, so
We must be deceiving ourselves
But, no, that would refute the illusion
And so, we smile plastically, knowing
It always ways exactly what we feared
For if their boasts were true at all
We were never we to act.