Dimension

My mind speaks of specular infinity,
But it knows nothing of definite inevitability,
My heart speaks of secular affinity,
But it knows nothing of definite divinity.

My surroundings fall perfectly into place,
A select dimension to fit an imperfect brace,
In the midst of a disorderly perfect space,
I am the one imperfect being that I wish to erase.

I am certain of nothing except that I am filled with doubt,
After all, I was indeed the liquid born of sheer drought,
Should I choose purpose, what should you be about?
Flickering lights choose persistence... as they fade and die out.

The culling begins, and to none shall it avail,
Where will you and I be... when they speak of our tale?