By Richard Mather
Strange to think I am the universe
and everything in it too. I call out.
No voice returns other than my echo.
So evidently, I am my own cause
and, worse, horribly alone. Bored,
I fall into a deep sleep and dream
of many things: wave-like particles
in plasma; diverse organisms,
vertebrates and invertebrates; metals
and gases; all kinds of finite bodies
with perishable qualities, competing
for succession and place and rank.
Time passed and, with time, entropy.
All did fall into disorder and decay.
And in my dream I ceased to believe
in my own being. But when the sun
ran out of hydrogen, and all matter
in the cosmos disintegrated I awoke
and found I was indeed nothing at all,
except a white dot of light in the void
like the final burst of a cathode ray
when a CRT set is switched off.
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