There is five minutes past midnight
Which is now,
And there is a flame.
So because we are all flammable
We have devised time.
We will keep the flame for later on.
We have no desire to be a torch,
Not just now.
We are crippled in this thinking.
We are being written off
By remote persons.
We are in society to be logged.
When we are in fact water logged
Water logged in fear.
This is somewhat ironic.
For if for instance
We were all to share a cannon,
Would we then all be equal fodder?
That’s really a question for the MPs
Not the Gernerals.
For now let just accept that
E is unequal.
There is in fact, no MC to be squared.
It is a myth of mystery,
Unlike breathing
Which is becoming essential.
I wonder
Which of all the particles is cleverest?
Which one decides it all?
Which is conscious long enough
To evaluate how best to evolve?
I want to be a bit of a clever particle too
And not stuck in this gloopy trench
Called fighting for your life.
I want to arm wrestle with problems
Detected in a corner of the sky.
Survival here isn’t tough enough.
I want to know the mind of that particle.
I want to question it directly
No, not through a telescope,
But face to faceless.
It can have all the time,
All the space it needs.
But it must have answers.
I can wait.
I have an eternity as yet untouched.
(c) 2018 Christopher Thompson.
