Futillery

When the future, and perhaps
Only when the future fails
To tower capaciously,

Whether palatially thus
Or ominously, so small
You can’t pretend anymore,

The math works like calculus
As your thoughts approximate
Nearer and nearer zero

In infinitesimal
Futures, and you glimpse the line,
Area under the curve,

Cannonball’s trajectory
Of your existence as was.