Sonnet

I don't know what to tell you in regards 
To your fears of our insignificance.
The ninety percent history discards 
May find us their latest participants,
And maybe that's because of impotence;
Some might ascribe it to a lack of luck,
Some to a society's reticence.
My own diffidence used to make me duck
The toil of evolution, now I'm stuck
To the shifty question of quality.
In spite of it all no one gives a fuck.
Must that condemn us to frivolity?
The spotlight doesn't cause a work to shine,
But one's dedication to their design.