We carve our creeds in aging stone
And call them truths that shall endure—
Yet sea and season claim their own,
And nothing mortal rests secure.

I’ve learned that wisdom wears a mask
Of certainty it cannot find;
The more we know, the more we ask,
And answers leave their shadows behind.

Philosophy? A gilded frame
We build to hold the dark at bay,
To give our oldest wounds a name
And bargain reckoning away.

We grasp at permanence like fools
Who think their grip can ransom time,
While entropy unravels rules
And fractures every grand design.

The cruelest lesson years have taught:
That tightening our hold breeds loss,
That every victory hard-won, hard-fought,
Conceals within its weight a cost.

Yet in this void, I’ve come to see
One truth my failures still implore—
That love’s the only currency
We carry past what time ignores.

So write your dogma, if you must,
On brittle pages born to fade,
But know we all return to dust,
And love outlasts the oaths we made.