Vanitascope
—Insignificancy Crowned—
Morning comes; I raise the vanitascope—
Dust drifts where light refuses instruction.
I lean in; distance folds. Closeness pretends.
Air resists; I accuse.
Shadows gather. I baptize them.
A mark appears; nothing further.
Exactness devours edges.
Attention thickens. Mercy dies.
Sound repeats, stubborn.
I follow. Beyond reason. Beyond care.
Hardness calls itself diligence.
The rose breathes, uncorrected, mocking.
I touch; tyranny rises—
No crown, no empire, only insistence.
Time moves.
Nothing waits. Nothing falters.
Vast persists; I fail to see.
Motes hover. Flaws remain.
Life stretches beyond grasp,
Unobserved, precise, inevitable.
I step aside—not wiser, only absent.
The world endures.
Because my vanitascope observed too much.
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