Anchors Aweigh

Like a huge python, winding round and round We see Orion's Belt and other such- systems whirring above us—off the ground, and though there's light pollution, we're in touch not with who created the universe so much as our, own place and importance. We are all now totally, self-immerse our self-image, status takes precedence. The divine no longer makes any sense. The lights of heaven are simply oil-lamps Two gases they say are the architects Hydrogen and helium amps- alternating—we owe our existence; but gears are in movement at all times. Things-happen good - evil - nonexistence: they all bite, but only one true-love guide's; Our captain, He hauls an unseen capstan, and it isn't us or a skulking-snake what fuels our soul, isn't an atom -or-lone-dust particle star-like opaque that delivers us lost seafarer's home. It isn't some northern star guide's our way hissing on the wind the flotsam and foam That finally calls shouts anchors aweigh