The wheel of fortune turns for me,
And always, revolves at its own leisure.
Time is curved where the future will be,
But always flat when it is measured.
The rest is a serpent, in every direction,
Forever consuming the end of its tail.
Self contained death and resurrection,
Superluminal ship, without wind or sail.
Will you safekeep our knowledge when it is done?
Humanity’s worst as well as its best?
Will you mind if it’s turtles, all the way down?
A stable foundation on which to rest?
Where will you fall, at the teeth or the tail?
Destroying or rebuilding anew?
If All is cyclic, then we’ll meet once more,
Eternal versions of me and of you.
Apropos of nothing, I wanted to mix the concept of the World Serpent and the old quote about, “turtles, all the way down”.
Along the way, though, some things also crept in that just seemed to fit.
Considering altering the first stanza to:
“
Time is curved where the future will be,
But always flat when it is measured.
“
(Edit:) After a comment from HP poet Lori Jones McCaffrey, it’s been changed. Previously read:
“
Time is flat where the future will be,
And curving only when it is measured.
“
Words can be so fickle.