Poetry: Aim by Wellington Lambert
For all our trinkets and rituals.
All our beliefs and fears.
Running to the end to leave it all behind.
If there is a price to be paid, the currency is madness.
If there is a level to be reached, the bottom is king.
All the reasons we dream up are just practice.
Losing form and disappearing.
Echoing and bouncing in the darkness.
The question is a fool’s errand.
The answer, a moving target.
Wellington Lambert lives in Kingston Ontario. He works as a visual artist sometimes using words to paint a picture.