You too are Infinite

So, what does one at thirty know
That one at twenty merely guessed?
That Time is but entropy loosed
From bowstrings of our trembling self.
If all one is is porcelain –
Another person’s precious prize –
Of course, the piercing thunk of Time
Will make one feel irreparable.
Instead when one is Infinite,
When Worth is not Attention’s alms,
Then Time is just a name for Now,
And everything one does is Wow!

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