A fleck of rust, a speck of dust,
A sense that “must” no more demands
Positions clear where one stands.
Age can fade decisions made,
Trade what once delayed for time.
Arrangements slip, no longer match
Where they should catch.
Cease to define chaos or design.
Fidelity to what may be
Distills no more from what to see.
The eye supplies the mind
With light brushes from reality
While consciousness becomes seduced
By probabilities induced under reflection.
Bulk input suffers rejection when it conflicts
With prejudice which slyly tricks the willing thoughts.
The escapades of raids
From mere suspicions
Riddle twaddle into conditions,
Tickle the cosmos with superstitions
To somersault stabilities
While rationality quickly fades.