After Arcadia

If, in the end, it all comes down to number

And nothing is, which is not simply maths,

What is the point of contemplating beauty

Or challenging the eye or ear with paths

That lead me nowhere but to introspection,

Subjective reflex on what is percieved

Balanced against genetic intuition

And bias from my parents, now concieved

As Truth, when in reality it's nothing

But affectation and synaptic links

Twinkling in the darkness of my brains

Fooling me that it actually thinks

          When all the time it's no more replete

          Than ticking neutrons gradually losing heat.

Brian Hick 2009

©copyright Sally Hick 17.8.22