One Way Road, or My Broken Time Machine*
The inequities of
the known fourth dimension
compels our scrutiny
infinitely forward.
Retrograde odysseys
within this remoteness
are proscribed and taboo;
we cannot walk the past.
From this now evolving,
ever moving instant,
the ghost of the future
rides down unknown highways.
To know the ultimate
age of the universe
there are only the clocks
we can see in the stars.
We can never travel
the roads trod upon last.
Time hath but one vector;
we cannot not walk the past.
(*The science may be a bit off in this poem:)
the known fourth dimension
compels our scrutiny
infinitely forward.
Retrograde odysseys
within this remoteness
are proscribed and taboo;
we cannot walk the past.
From this now evolving,
ever moving instant,
the ghost of the future
rides down unknown highways.
To know the ultimate
age of the universe
there are only the clocks
we can see in the stars.
We can never travel
the roads trod upon last.
Time hath but one vector;
we cannot not walk the past.
(*The science may be a bit off in this poem:)