All this everything that you call life
A hoarders palace, a dreamers delight
A showreel of the real
You play the play, pause and defend
A position that you pretend
Can stand out from the even
That is an odd and worthy thing
But a thing is not the word
Or a picture, nor even the thing
You see
So how my friend can you make a claim
To something so grand
As the rightness of your being?
That day will come when you fold your hands
And behold the fading light
And then you will dream of finer things
Than the belief that you are right
Beautiful.
Every day, I pray "God, let me not be right. Please, let me be wrong about all this."