There was control and Excession
A master Use of Weapons.
Inversions without as well as within.
The Culture looking to windward
At the light of a dying war
Played to the tune of a Hydrogen Sonata
What mattered then Matters no more.
Phlebas played his games
All things considered
Yet played them far too well
Against a dark background
The Feersum Endjinn tells
Of better times.
As Algebraists count,
Passing time on the abaci of the mind.
They divine the nature of the heart,
Given up in offering
To the State of the Art.