In the final 40 minutes of The Theory of Everything, the movie about Steven Hawking’s life and achievements, I paused it 7 times in moments of inspiration to write 7 poems. I’ve decided not to edit any of these (spelling errors amok). As a relevant aside, in my high school philosophy class, I asserted that the concept of choice was nothing more than an illusion; 15 years later (a couple years ago) when I studied Hawking’s principle on black hole radiation and the mutability of the universe, it changed my mind. This is poem 4:
every found item
and phenomenon
is as ephemeral
as everything
once was and soon gone
I’m weary
I am weak
but there are
still 7 days
next week
as though
an explanation
rinses sanitation
of dirty thoughts
welling in my mind
since someone else
told me I am sinful
and my nature is disdainful
and in my naievity
I was quick to agree.
