Be kind, oh faceless god of Death,
For I cannot escape your wrath,
For I cannot predict my fate,
Of your descend foresee the date.
We are no more than specks of dust
Despite the human rage and lust
And we may build a perfect world
Above this dirt to shine of gold.
Do not be fast to judge of those
Who live to march and die in rows –
Who knows what secrets they withhold?
Would you let those remain untold?
Behold the stars our minds have shone!
I pass thee words engraved in stone
From where the nameless poet lies:
Our lives are dust, our dreams reach skies.