Journeying from the beginning
(of which there is no beginning),
travelling for millions of years
(which cannot be measured in millions or years),
I have come,
and go on.
Just the onward movement
into the illimitable.
No need to blame the wicked,
their shadows are at their heels.
No need to fear for the good,
haloes of light enclose them in splendour.
No need to talk of escape.
Escape from this prison
is a doorway into the prison yard
and back again.
This prison is moving
There is nothing outside it
to be escaped into.
There is no escape from.
There is only stopping.
Where there is stopping, how can there be movement?
If there is no movement, how could there be a prison?
(Poem from BLONDIN)