The universe, vast and timeless as it turns,
One among infinite, where eternity burns.
Each atom, each thought, a unique, fleeting spark,
In the grand, endless dance of light and of dark.
If time is unending, if space has no edge,
Then what of the self, with no memory to pledge?
This life is a moment, a breath in the flow,
Yet in infinite cycles, we rise and we go.
The universe spins with no purpose or will,
Indifferent to wishes, yet wondrously still,
In this vast, restless cosmos, might we not return,
As the stars keep on burning, as the galaxies churn?
So perhaps we shall live, time and time once more,
In a universe infinite, with mysteries galore.
What can happen will happen, and thus we may see,
In the grand wheel of existence, the return of you and me.
Authors Note
Although the rhythm and subject of this poem differ, those familiar with The City of Dreadful Night by James Thomson will detect an underlying current that owes much to that remarkable work.
This poem was written in 1974, during my time at Belmont School, Holmbury St Mary. It was inspired by a debate organised by our English Literature teacher, Mr Ballantyne. The topic was “Reincarnation is real”. I was on the team tasked with arguing in favour — no small challenge for an 13-year-old who had, at the time, no idea what reincarnation was.
To prepare, I retreated to the school library and began my research (encouraged and assisted by Mr Ballantyne himself). There, in a rather ancient encyclopaedia (I suspect it predated Britannica by several decades), I stumbled upon a passage quoting James Thomson (BV), which conveyed in essence the belief that death is final. Regrettably, I can no longer recall the precise quotation, and indeed The City of Dreadful Night offers so many bleak and masterful reflections that it is difficult to pinpoint which one it was.
Nonetheless, I remember vividly how deeply Thomson’s writing struck me. His sombre vision of life left a lasting impression. Over fifty years later, certain passages still linger in my mind — testimony to the power of his words.
You will find the full text of The City of Dreadful Night on Project Gutenberg. In particular, you may notice how the poem presented here draws upon the mood and tone of the four stanzas that begin as follows:
The world rolls round for ever like a mill;
It grinds out death and life and good and ill;
It has no purpose, heart or mind or will.
“While air of Space and Time’s full river flow
The mill must blindly whirl unresting so:
It may be wearing out, but who can know?
“Man might know one thing were his sight less dim;
That it whirls not to suit his petty whim,
That it is quite indifferent to him.
“Nay, does it treat him harshly as he saith?
It grinds him some slow years of bitter breath,
Then grinds him back into eternal death.”
Verbal Alchemy 