Walk slowly
down the corridors of time
stop, look out the window,
or study closely
the pictures hanging there.

They were left
by others who went before
and though their meanings
have shifted and changed
they still have a message for you.

When the walls darken
and the floor slopes steeper
drawing you faster into the vortex,
the images will rush past
faster and faster.

And, as you look about,
frantic with dispair,
you may well wonder
'Are any of those
my pictures hanging there?'

My Picture by Steve Roberts, 1978