Here is a hand drawn lifetime
Which I hold up to the light,
Just as it appears in reality.
It looks too much like
A troubled, drawn, mess.
Which beggars belief.
A torn strip of a B existences,
Drudged in the gloopy syrup of time,
Slow and secluded, styled and misled.
Deceived and deluded
Dumb and derided.
It is a simple, singular blip in universal time.
As the three arrows pointed out,
Insignificant, as this life is,
Most don't even make it to an event horizon.
And the case for a Timescape?
And the case for a Singularity?
And the Event Horizon?
© 2018 Christopher Thompson All rights reserved
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Published by Christopher Thompson (Pryderi.org)
Saturated by the stream of consciousness and thinking aloud. Attempting to be heard over this loud scratching of my pen on the page. Seeing life mostly through the rear view mirror, but still able to spectate the here and now. Watchful for the future.
View all posts by Christopher Thompson (Pryderi.org)