In The Holy Death Of Science... Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Arrogance...the varicose egos;
time in space be nothing more
than synchronized Death;
so, I wonder...wonder, wonder I do -
'bout satellites, space and Kings of Three
in One, as this be a Trinity's creation-

to imbibe from the chalice
of faith... providence
dis-veiling our skewed opaque minds,
breaking away
from presage and comets,
qualified garner
as virtue... atonement -
to The Face on the clock
whose Hands are sore
perhaps early signs of Stigmata.

And, in the close of space
despite all black holes
and pagans...
silence be heard,
alarming... A L O U D...,
throughout air and space,
clocks still and freeze
except for 'The Face'
of Lifes Final Clock,
thus Judgments' Time
hath come for the ends
with strong, loving Hands
still divinely outstretched
at nine and three,
as they were by 'The Wood'.

And with one final movement
like His one final breath
paralysis strikes,
both Hands fall at six,
and the crystal cracks strangely,
in formation of an angel falling.

'It is finished'...'It is finished'
Time captures the all
that Time hath created,
inexistence reigns,
there'll be no tomorrow
nor wake or stone
for the fallen many;
who crucified Time...,
and the ruing begins,
science is dead.

Verum quod fatur... Lingua Valde Sapientia





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Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR