Worlds turn, men survey what's theirs to burn, ants make war and die, cells multiply, mutate, divide; everything is in motion, but not always at speeds we can perceive.
Floating in directions forged by others foregone, heaved off and hurled into a void of possibilities, none of us are on equal footing, but all adrift.
Entropy is everywhere, but disorder opportune. The insignificant become part of something bigger, as the insurmountable erodes. Tipping points are reached in drops, but fall down like torrents of rain.
Like a watched pot boiling or dead man walking, combustion equalizes each side of our equations, but renders everything inert. Some things take time.
Posted by Sir Cucumber at 12:59 PM on Monday, October 24, 2011