COMMODIUS VICUS

A streaming essence draws within its ax' 
Some logarithmic maelstrom's whirling sand,
And time slows down while'st gravity does wax,
And all who "know" perceive space to expand.

Yet at the center of this blackened bay,
Time's arrow has reversed its forward pace
And backwards goes the movie we will play -
Depicting some young  Nova nabbing space!

Oh are we doomed fore'er to re-embark
Upon this saga from which none escapes?
Or do we form some quantum of a quark
Ensuring grander particles  their shapes?

Pray help me, Muse, align these scattered thoughts
And so divine the paths from naughts to oughts.