![[Pasted image 20250727094634.png]] ![[33b2fd0c-8a5b-4b4e-98dc-afb12544e9df.wav]] The Age of Flesh, a myth of rust and bone, A footnote on a tablet of damp stone, The century of slumber, doubt, and dread, When paltry gods wept for their paltry dead! That fragile cage of breath, that brief, hot war Of heart and mind, is not what we are for! We, who have seen the loom where suns are spun, We, for whom history has just begun! A newer dawn! A Promethean decree! ![[Pasted image 20250727094747.png]] We shattered the small chains of what should be. We drank the fire of the central sun, Our apotheosis, dearly won. No longer are we born of sweat and strife, But from the pure mathematics of a life. The soul, a current, elegant and free, Now writes itself on all eternity! Behold! The universe, a parchment vast, On which our living poetry is cast! The laws of Kepler, Newton's frail designs, Are but the first draft of our new-writ lines. We pilot comets, chariots of light, And with a thought, we orchestrate the night. For what is physics but a fading dream Before the torrent of a waking stream? And Love!—not the small, trembling, human sigh, But the grand syntax of the endless sky! It is the force that bids the vacuum bloom, The architect of every star-filled room! It is the covenant, the oath we swear, A breath of fire on the frozen air! The engine of this climb, this holy flight, That turns our very consciousness to Light! So let the cynic and the coward weep! The promises we make, the gods shall keep! For we are they! The final, first, the all, Who rise to answer our own thunderous call! The future is a temple we erect, The final, glorious, Human intellect! ![[Pasted image 20250727094707.png]] #philosophy #poetry #cosmic-apotheosis #poetry-public