The moon is murky with indecisive rain
As I stride down the streets of the twenty-first century
Jostled by a crowd of umbrellas.
This sea of cybermen is under the illusion
That we are standing at the end of some eternal measuring tape,
Balancing on the edge of a mind-numbing precipice
With the weight of time swinging
Like a wrecking-ball
But when I wander through circles of stone,
Half submerged in boggy turf,
Or gaze at the stars as I lie on the earth
Alone in the grounds of a time-worn castle,
Sensing the pulse of the beating surf,
I know that the present is a fantasy.
Charlemagne, Napoleon, Hatshepsut,
Must have felt the precipice,
Looming in front of them,
And yet their nows were allusive,
Flitting into yesterdays,
Pasts, stone tablets, and history curriculum
Like frittered cash.
Every step I take along this rain-spattered street
Is a changing now,
Sometimes attached to my right foot,
Sometimes to my left,
And behind me prances a trail of previous footprints
And ahead loom future strides,
And the ticking moments are twirling around me
Like manic dancers
That the twenty-first century
Is only a dust particle
Spinning in a vortex of eternity.