The Timelessness of Futility

A poetic reflection jotted down in my yellowing writing notebook this cold night.

Extremes take turns on the see-saw.
Often wrong and never mixed.
The pendulum swings,
And in between is apathy.
As the most well-grounded
Muddle through mediocrity.
The tides come in.
The tides go out.
And the shore stands still
Against the storm.
God bides time
While men play games.
The pendulum swings,
Marking time
While the world spins.
Is the end determined,
Or do the determined decide the end?
Time and tide,
Space and soul.
All will be told.

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