Bias

Yet am I born of a bias called love?
This despite the correctness
Of the detail of a linear purpose.
And that I am merely in procession,
Pointed in the direction
Of the Arrow of Time?

Is it I am governed by the Will of that
Which resides beyond the cycle of life?
That which being the very cause of The Cosmos,
Negates any incidence of Chemical Chance?
In my Attosecond life,
Am I not so isolated as science would dictate?

What latent discovery, bonds me to time,
When all to the good can be explained?
But none will listen to those intricacies,
Even fewer will understand,
So what is the good of that
Where is the good even in maps?

When no one needs to know
That is beyond all edges.
Save that your linear purpose
Is, as is mine, resident in that mind,
Which is beyond the reaches of space time,
Which was existing before the first helix.

Extra to theories of an electromotive slope,
There is descendant,
A bias towards a bias,
And that bias is called love.

© 2014-18  Christopher Thompson  All Right Reserved

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