The Unmoved Mover (Aristotelian Metaphysics)
Behind the spinning gears of day and night,
A silent center holds the world in place.
No hand is seen to nudge the stars to light,
Yet motion flows through every fold of space.
The seed becomes the oak by inner need,
The river seeks the basin of the sea;
An ancient hunger planted in the seed
To reach the height of what it’s meant to be.
Oh, Prime First Cause, who sits in still repose,
Not moved by prayer, nor shifted by a gale,
From your cold spark the fire of being grows,
Beyond the reach of any human veil.
We turn and toss within the restless deep,
While you, the Source, a perfect silence keep.
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