Beneath the pixelated cathedral of the cosmos,
there lie fractals—calling stones to skip
silently across startled liquid realities.
Echoes captured in the we manifold seen,
heard only by the entropy’s echo smashing into itself.
Geometry holds poetry—assembled syllables;
letters spiraled infinitesimally into dimensions,
lines penned severely by the immutable hand.
Between vertices lies the thought-unbroken, embracing symmetry—
more human than the womb that taught discord the womb.