To strike a humanising pace,
Forsakes the clock and hints of hours,
Is heavy laid upon the bells from distant towers,
Keeps up in love a sense of place,
Shared with a friend accompanied.

Great days in thought, long days in thought,
Ever captive to a gripping thought,
In abstract structures and their striking turns,
In maddened grasps at language and its truth,
In fine and painful introspection of the self,
For philosophy and childlike whims,
Now ceased they turn to rest.
By grace they shall not steal the night.

Why not make the vastness of this age,
The information age a chessboard for the mind,
A racetrack built on hyperlinks and eons,
Of collective time - the toil of archivalists,
Why not test a naive lens upon the links,
To see how far this youthful sight will carry you between,
To take in fragments of a fact to spur you onwards to the goal,
Just time before the other finds the same.

Train game,
And we sit around, lame,
Unmoving by the table same,
And pressing in for that family fame,
Gotta grab those cards to lay down your lane,
Expectant the nights watches through the pane,
For us to laugh each others names,
And maybe pull a funny faces or two...

Or three.