Gravity Well
Sir Isaac Newton was afraid of his own shadow
after going through a bad blow with an apple tree,
the scientific mind, unlocked, rocked and rolled
as the Serpent's fruit, so shining red, fell free.
He had been sleeping like the dead or a new-born baby boy,
not knowing the answer to life's biggest questions yet...
Weighing the treasured thoughts, wrought from the bough
and measured it caught on scales like the arms of a Marionette.
He may have had knowledge of the birds and the bees,
but it opened his mind in a fountain of dreams
to a world that gleams, steems as wind over leaves and trees...
breaking the bounds of quizzical science with invisible seams.
His science now knows that there are so many things
that Humanity doesn't really know certain facts of life...
he shall reel in a whale in a sea of white-haired kings
that see signs like Jo and Blaire at the point of a knife.
They will now be aware of a greater truth,
the joint venture smoking that links like-minded foes
in an information desert where sand blows, growing ruthless
in a land of latent enemies, he knows.
Science blows mystic smoke rings around past-known facts,
lances of powerful magic from the partitioned brain...
he who shall not be named, insane in a fictional world on the blackest tracks
of shadows and snakes is a game of trials and tribulations that shall refrain.
The crowns of the mighty cannot hold together
a short-sighted vision of what mathematics has no data matrix...
when time unravels like the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange laughing mad at Severus
the worlds of fantasy and magic, a frozen pond hat-trick.
Where fiction and fact become stacked together sends trickles,
flows like the drug-induced hallucination
through a melodrama dream of creation, a nation that only tickles
the back of the mind with truth-filled protestations.
Free-fall the apple from the highest of branches,
a gravitation well of sheerest luck
that shows sound reason and mathematical words cinches
tightly a proof of logic rather than an attitude to pass-the-buck.
