A living memory in a dying art

A message in a bottle tossed to sea,

A simple wish upon a falling star

A hope on hope that shall not come to be.

Such is the passage of the mortal soul,

A traveler from and to, yet never there;

All worthy toil but for some nameless goal,

A destiny unsure—yet ever…where?

Alone upon that solipsistic plain

Doubting reason, trusting not the mind,

Ethereal essence not of heart or brain

Clear of a purpose not quite yet defined;

A dance of particles on solar winds…

Or wandering children of Elysium?