No more, but yet to mean everything.
In hope, we dream and in dreaming we live; all in a sad life we play out like flames dancing on a candle's stage. But yet we rejoice at the mention and sacrifice for the touch, petty creatures lurking in its shadows taking venomous bite after bite until nothing is left but a cold, hard, lifeless shell, spent and broken by hunger and greed.
Wars fought, civilizations torn asunder, history rewritten - all in the grand envelope of its cape. To the victor goes the grudge of the fallen, and with the spoils of the battles past we build a new world in its name.
At its grace men fell; for its power women worshiped. For it, time itself stood still.
And at its promise I now count, like I have counted before, like I have counted always; for something that might very well not be.
A word. No more, but yet everything.