The universe is large, I'm told. The portion that I traverse isn't.
Small and clogged with whiny children, it appears to shrivel
As I mark the time before I sleep, and my own can, at last,
Expand, the way that physicists believe. They're dopes,
I know. Time never started, and the vastness of existence,
Infinite, would humble me if I could push beyond these
Shackles to engage it. Would I fail? I would, as have those
Academics. Where we find ourselves is large. It stretches
Without end, past the paltry limits they've proclaimed.