Flux

What word is that? Constantly confused with indecisiveness, Or worse, betrayal, Sometimes attributed to self-preservation, Sometimes to being cunning, But when the justice of fate rises the gavel, Its powerlessness is magnified, So hear me, you scoundrel, You wastrel, pathetic reason for a being, When the world turns to dust, History will remember you, As the leech of opportunities, And not a benign survivor of chances, So be all the flux you can now, The light at the tunnel will embrace you fast, Whether it is a portal for peace? You ask? Definitely the malediction preceding a monster, An acidic prelude to an arid future, Where histories of a good few will fail to last.