The Exception

Recreation (more or less) of a poem that I wrote many years ago.

The Exception

O Light, how does your velocity not
change as though your point of origin's?
And without this could ever sense be sought
when points of view are just mere opinions?

Could ever we measure our stride some size
were yours not made that which none shall exceed?
And would then distance and time not despise
all matter for moving through space with speed?

Whenever we race to a pace, the rate
we displace relates by weight some power.
Yet how can we claim that each day's the same,
or now will still be now in an hour?

If all that there is is relative to you,
You're relative then to everything too!