Of Rising, And Beyond the Sun

O Time, thou glassèd flood of mortal days, Whose crystal stream reflects both bloom and blight, Attend whilst Man his many-finger’d praise Lifts skyward in the shivering morn of Light. From out the dust where Eden’s breach was made, He climb’d with bleeding palms and purpose vast, Through tempests fierce and golden fields unlaid, To plant his hope where stars in silence pass’d.

He tam’d the flame and from it drew his bread, Wrought iron into chariots that did fly, He charm’d the lightning, taught the night to tread Like noonday ‘neath his lanterns in the sky. His cities rose like temples in the sun, He sang in stone, he wrought with sacred hand— Each tower, each verse, did whisper, I am One That dares to will, and dares to understand.

Yet through the vastness of his proud design, A shadow moved—of wrath and blind excess; He drank of power as though it were divine, And left behind both mercy and redress. The sword he polish’d turn’d against his kin, And empires fell for want of humble grace; He found the stars, but lost the peace within, And marred the mirror of his mother’s face.

But lo! Amid the wreck and roaring sea, A fairer flame from ashes yet did rise— Not born of iron, nor of alchemy, But from the deep that ever underlies. One seed remain’d, through fire and storm unbroke: Not cunning mind, nor artful tongue’s employ— But Wisdom, crownless ‘til the ages spoke, And every heart made still to hear her joy.

She sitteth not upon a throne of pride, Nor thunders she from Sinai’s fearful height— She walks ‘mid fields where quiet truths abide, And sees the whole within the single light. All tongues, all tribes, all centuries do bend Their labours, wars, and dreams to this one grace: That Man, self-knowing, might at last ascend— And meet with greatness—in Wisdom’s face.

Beyond the Sun

When Wisdom took her seat on Earth’s green brow, She cast her gaze not only down, but high— Past cypress groves and smoke of steepled vow, Into the hushèd chorus of the sky. There sang the stars—not loud, but true and deep— With voices old as oceans’ sighing breath, And beckon’d her from out her human sleep To come, and dance beyond the reach of death.

The nearer worlds gave harbor, root, and bread— Mars bore the plough, and Luna gave her stone. Yet far she dream’d, where distant light is shed From stars that burn in silence all alone. The years grew long; the flesh, a shifting frame; Yet mind endured, and love was carried forth— Through clocks that stretch’d like bells without a name, Through centuries that circled back to birth.

For time, O time! did fold and fall away— One vessel slept, and woke where none had been. Another walk’d where children’s children play, On soil they knew not Earth had ever seen. And lo! a wonder hid in light's delay— That somewhere far, where only math had led, A voice return’d across the Milky Way: “We wait for thee—your future is our bread.”

So came the tale, not told but ever spun: That Man, though mortal, touch’d the deathless spheres; And in the web of stars, she merged as one Who plants for those beyond a thousand years. No single soul did cross the breadth alone— But many hands, through ages dark and fair, Unravel’d time, and laid in dust and stone The hearths of home in interstellar air.

Epilogue (quiet) The journey began where Wisdom found her voice, And taught the fire to warm, not to consume— And from that point, the stars became her choice, And in their light, she sent away the tomb.

Afterword,

What Are These Two Poems About?

These two poems are stories told in the language of the past, but they carry a message for the future. The first poem is about humanity's rise—our long, painful, and beautiful journey from the earliest days on Earth to the birth of something truly rare: wisdom. Not just knowledge or technology, but deep understanding. Compassion. Humility. The kind of wisdom that comes when we finally see ourselves clearly and take responsibility for what we’ve built, and broken.

The second poem picks up from that moment of awakening. It imagines a future where, guided by that wisdom, humanity reaches for the stars—not out of greed or conquest, but out of care and wonder. We build not with speed, but with patience. Not alone, but together. And over great spans of time, even as centuries pass and time stretches with each voyage, we quietly begin to settle the stars of the Milky Way.

This is a vision of what we might become, if we bring our best selves with us as we go.

Learn that if you hear old words and rhythms, they’re not meant to make things distant. They’re meant to remind us that even in a high-tech future, we’re still human—and our greatest invention might not be the spaceship or the computer...

...it might be the wisdom to use them well.