Creation comes with
a price:
Dissolution dogs its
trail of glory.
Beauty also has its
weight:
The loveliest things
are most ephemeral.
Strength requires
much of itself:
Constant strain
towards perfection
Ends in weakness ere
life's course is run.
Why, then, do we
create?
Why do we, poor
mortals, love beauty,
Revere strength?
For all these pass
away
In time's great and
unrelenting passage.
Yet we do not believe in endings
If we did, despair would crush us
And turn our deepest hopes to endless dread
So hope we must,
For perfect love
Which can create, and beautify, and strengthen
For all eternity to come.
