[Apocryphal poem, supposedly written by one of the three Pilots after their ascension to the Firmament. Disowned by the Averers. Unrecognized in the Polycanon.]
No prophecy. No destiny.
What to be? Dare we succeed?
Outside of nature. Our surgery.
Is this what goodness means?
To feel the weight of the world?
And have so much doubt?
Inside your bones. High above.
So alone. How will we know our sins?