May 29, 2026

Sonnet On Process Technology

The Flow Of Becoming.(Whitehead)

The world is not a pile of solid things,That sit like marbles on a wooden floor,It is a song the cosmic choir sings,An open ocean with no final shore.Each moment is a fresh creative act,That gathers all the past into its fold,Transforming fleeting fiction into fact,Before its own brief history is told.The universe is alive with feeling deep,An interconnected, moving, breathing lace,Where nothing is allowed to fade or sleep,Without a lasting ripple left in space.God is the lure that draws the world along:Not a static ruler, but the growing song.

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