Member Poem

The Edge of Flatland

The ends of the earth,

some say there is no end,

no edge to reach,

you simply stop.

You go back.

We pass the last village,

enter into a wilderness

of vegetation,

we hear the voices of beasts,

we go on, and on, and on.

Should the world be bent

through a hypothetical 3rd dimension,

as some philosophers suggest,

then west could become east,

and, leaving home,

we would eventually return.

If the world is bent thusly,

where then are those lost explorers of legend?

Our storied heroes

may yet return,

any day now,

any day.