Cat Box

The vile of time decays,

Emits the radiation of spent days,

Triggers poisonous cogitations,

Unmet expectations of grandiose plans.

They observe nothing,

Both alive and dead,

A macabre science of dread

Hypothesizes possibilities in your head,

Conducts experiments,

Checks the numbers,

The answer is elusive,

Crawling off it slumbers.

You try to measure a position

But you’re uncertain of a path,

There is a Goldilocks condition,

If you could only do the math.

O! The many worlds where we reside:

In some we’re known, in some we hide.

Copyright 2024