Where tangled thoughts like heavy shadows creep,
The long, exhausting hours of mental strain,
That steal the gentle medicine of sleep.
I walked the corridors of false design,
And chased the phantom answers in the dark,
Until a sudden, sharp, unerring line
Cut through the fog and left a golden mark.
The scattered pieces locked into their place,
The chaotic numbers settled into law,
A perfect symmetry of form and space,
Replacing every blind and hidden flaw.
No sword can match the sharp, decisive hour,
When human reason wakes to claim its power.
No comments:
Post a Comment