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Recycled Stardust (Free verse) by Quarton

Time flows unimpeded through the vastness of space, precursor of awareness and meaning in an ever expanding continuum; like flower petals unfolding, probing in search of the light that sustains all life: rose and thorn--saint or sinner. Tiny craters formed by raindrops dance across the water's surface, rippling outward from the center, a microcosm of the universe expanding in creation's renewal. Seeded by exploding stars creating recycled stardust, scattered like wind blown pollen on currents of random destination. Over time, stardust merges in increasing order and complexity, from darkness to light-- oblivion to self-realization, creation's emergence played out on earth's temporal stage; the universe embodied and aware. Superstrings a cosmic symphony vibrating in infinite repertoire, emerging pointless particles in a nine dimensional space, like tiny loops of string curled up in a ball. Bizarre concepts beyond reason, when reality becomes fantasy and perhaps returns back to reality once again, unsure of what is real and what is illusion. A child grows old and dies, stars are born and transform into supernovae or dwarfs, as from order to chaos the second law pervades. Time passes in accord with entropy, robbing the universe of self, cosmic anarchy the result-- a closed system inevitable. In the blackness of space, shining and vibrant, the earth in shades of green and blue. Verdant and teeming with life, a reversal of entrophy as order and complexity increase, open-ended and unimpeded in the long journey from oblivion to the recognition of shared essence-- stardust magically transformed into you and into me.

-=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. 6-Jul-04/5:43 PM
You're wasting your time. There is a class of people on poemeranker who have decided that the only things worth knowing about science can be gleaned from popular science magazines and dubious philosophical manuals.

For them, true understanding of the universe comes in spending half an hour reading a jazzed-up, non-technical popular summary of a recent scientific experiment, leaping to whatever wrong-headed conclusion suits their fancy, and writing a poeme about it.

The idea of actually really trying to understand the experiment in a technical, mathematical way, is completely preposterous to them. They consider anything beyond the contents of a typical New Scientist article to be minor details, unimportant in comparison to the grand, overarching poetic understanding they've gained from reading the summary.

I conjecture this is because they weren't very good at maths or physics in school, and faced with the choice between admitting they're thick or telling themselves that science is BAD, and scientists JUST DON'T GET IT, they make the obvious choice.

Thanks.




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