The Time Arrow (occasioned by the death of Martin Amis)
based on physics (1), Scott Fitzgerald (2) and the late Martin Amis (3) (4)
(1)
In the realm where time's arrow flies,
A concept captivating our curious eyes,
We ponder its essence, its endless sway,
The symphony of moments in its rhythmic play.
Thermodynamic arrow, ever unwinding,
Entropy's dance, in nature's binding,
From ordered past to a chaotic domain,
A journey from structure to disarray's reign.
Cosmological arrow, vast and profound,
Expanding cosmos, its grandeur unbound,
The universe's canvas, where matter takes flight,
As density wanes, embracing cosmic light.
Psychological arrow, our memories keep,
A treasure trove of moments, etched deep,
The past we embrace, in our mind's embrace,
While future's veil shrouds in mystery's lace.
Causal arrow, quantum's secret hold,
Where cause sparks effect, stories unfold,
From particles' dance to reality's birth,
A tapestry woven, their destinies unearthed.
Radiative arrow, light's celestial flight,
A beacon of photons, traversing the night,
From source to infinity, its journey complete,
A symphony of energy, in waves it does fleet.
Time's arrow, relentless, it moves us along,
In moments, in eons, a never-ending song,
From past to future, it guides our way,
As we dance in the present, cherishing each day.
In the tapestry of existence, woven by time,
We marvel at the arrows, each one sublime,
For in their embrace, we find beauty untold,
As the arrow of time, its wonders unfold.
(2)
In Baltimore, a tale unfolds, strange and rare,
Of Benjamin Button, born old with snow-white hair.
A man of eighty years, in cradle he lay,
A curious case, as the townsfolk would say.
He spoke with wisdom far beyond his years,
While others crawled, in cane he persevered.
His life moved backwards against the tide of time,
A lonely path, a mountain in reverse to climb.
His peers played with toys, in games they immersed,
While he relished in sonnets, and novels well-versed.
In his youthful heart housed an old man's soul,
A peculiar existence, a life's unusual toll.
In his fifties he found love, pure and bright,
With Hildegarde, a dame of twenty, their hearts alight.
A son they bore, Roscoe, the apple of their eye,
Yet, as she aged, Benjamin kissed his youth hello, his old age goodbye.
Years passed like whispers on the summer breeze,
His wife grew old, while his youth found its lease.
A strange pain it was, to see his son age,
While he, like a book, turned back the page.
He returned to school, a child amongst men,
Yet inside him hid the wisdom of a lifetime then.
He grew smaller, and his memories began to wane,
The echo of his existence, the shadow of his name.
As a babe, he giggled, in swaddling clothes,
In the river of time, against the current he goes.
As others are born, he breathed his last,
His life a mirror to ours, from future to past.
Oh, the curious case of Benjamin Button we recall,
A reminder that time governs us all.
A life lived in reverse, a tale left to spin,
A story of age, of youth, of the soul within.
(3)
In a world where time runs backward, so begins our tale,
A man named Tod Friendly, his life seeming stale.
A creature of comfort, alone in his lair,
It's only at death, time's arrow does dare.
Back through the years, his life we retrace,
Hospital, retirement, each woman's embrace.
Unusual happenings, unfolding in view,
Wounds heal before treated, and meals begin spew.
In Portugal, Sweden, he lived under disguise,
Solitary, secretive, with payments his prize.
Back to when Young was his American name,
Before truth risked exposure, igniting his shame.
John Young was a healer, in the New York night glow,
A threat of exposure, and he had to go.
The narrative weaves, a path of revelation,
In Auschwitz, a doctor, in Hitler's cursed nation.
Unverdorben, born anew, in death's concentration,
Committing unthinkable acts, devoid of hesitation.
In reverse time's horror, he's seen to restore,
Yet reality tells, of the lives he tore.
We journey through childhood, his innocence reversed,
In the crib of his birth, time's arrow immersed.
A vessel of evil, oblivious in deed,
The narrator watches, his warnings unheeded.
A tale told in reverse, time's arrow bent,
A doctor, a killer, on redemption intent.
In this mirror of time, we're forced to confront,
The nature of evil, and its gruesome affront.
(4)
Within the heart of Time's inverted bow,
We traverse life in a paradoxical show.
Words unspoken, love and despair untold,
In Amis' land, the story of time unfolds.
Flowing like a river, yet the wrong way,
Past is future, tomorrow is yesterday.
Hearts break before they've ever loved,
Babies rise to cradle, like a dove.
Life moves backwards, a cosmic pun,
The setting of the moon, the rising of the sun.
Laughter unheard before the joke is said,
Dreams re-dreamed in a backward thread.
Here, in the twist of a chronal wormhole,
Memory recedes, and foresight takes its toll.
The wounded healed, before the bullet's flight,
A dance of destiny in an eternal night.
Victims walk free, their pain un-felt,
War un-waged, never a blow dealt.
Doctors remove health, and give disease,
Life recedes, death brings ease.
In the theater of a world reversed,
Lives un-lived, verses unrehearsed.
In this absurdity, we find no respite,
The Time's Arrow flies, forever in twilight.
Yet in this time-bending narrative, we glean,
A poignant message, albeit unseen.
For life in reverse, absurd though it be,
Bears witness to our shared humanity.
Lessons emerge from Time's Arrow flight,
In this cryptic dance of day and night.
A testament to the human condition,
In this world, shaped by twisted tradition.
So let us marvel, as Time's Arrow soars,
Through a cosmos that ceaselessly explores.
And let us ponder, in this reversed tale,
Life's timeless truths, that prevail.
