Quos Deus Vult Perdere, Prius Dementat

Penetrate, then deviate

In quest to circumnavigate

From pole to pole, and back again

The soulless void of man's chagrin

No peace of mind, just endless days

Forever searching Troytown maze

No man can e'er acclimatise

Beneath these ever shifting skies

Weep like willow, shed the tears

To fill this ocean, year by year

No longitude, no night lit stars

No latitudes to warm the scars

No atlas here of lands immense

No turning back, no recompense

"Varium et mutabile

semper femina", I feel

© Chris Bond — 17 July 2000