In the smallest of hours a thought pulled me out
Of perfect, numbing, ordinary dreams
It pulled me from the deep
Restless, a pressure and tension had grown
A question of purpose shook my heart of stone:
What if after all of this, my life should come up short in the final scales?
Should I wait for time to tell?

For the longing and sorrow I know to be true –
What have I offered but the portion of fools?
Detached