What is harder than to realize we are wrong?

Standing before Altars, beneath Spires

 

Are we then without pause to blindly carry on?

Or to extinguish the constructs and causes of The Fire

 

For what are we if in our time we pass from East to West,

Circuitous by nature, unknowing beyond the bend

 

Believing earthly toil might deliver peaceful rest

To be welcomed by a moment after which, is only end.

 

In such blissful nothing would the Journey be in vain

The winding path of travel ever lost?

 

Or might those who follow never tread our way again

And with their every footstep repay themselves, our cost.