Sonnet Of The Möbius Poem by Richard Stopps

Sonnet of the Möbius
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Lo! Time, a twisted ribbon, looped and spurned,
A Möbius path where end and start entwine;
Its single surface, ever strangely turned,
Doth mock all bounds that men would deem divine.

No line could chart where past and future meet,
For time's own face is twisted, folded o'er;
One path, unbroken, yet in dual beat,
An endless course that circles evermore.

In cycles vast, doth every moment lie,
Repeating all, yet never twice the same;
Where truth and memory like phantoms fly,
As specters bound to time's eternal game.

O Möbius! Thy paradox we tread,
Forever bound by threads that none may shred.