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
PRYDERI – Emphorius View Of Life Written Large
Views from the Stream of Consciousness, with some Statements of the Bleedin' Obvious.
