Man of the Future

There are signs everywhere. But even "signs" imply there is space Between the signs That might mean less than the signs. All is a sign, a signal. We are oarsmen of fluid time, Delusional in our reaction to the dimness of fear, The darkness of the waters of our minds. As oarsmen, We choose motion and purpose and reasons Over the senseless radiance of seas. But there is no paddle, no boat, no water. And there is no muscle, no face, no strain. There is only all-devouring light. And a fearful mind That pushes and pulls, absurdly, Against the newness of infinite rebirth. So do not fear If you were to wake-up tomorrow With a new name. A new focus. This is the world of the man of the future.