Birth of Ire - Archivist

The irony is delicious

Consumed by blind ambition

Humanities benevolent cause

Carried with every fevered lash

Cart horse sentient ships

Flung outward toward avarice

To cut the ground and pave

The path to a promised land

Pull the cloth of space

They say, rend it wide

To show the measure of them

What treasures they might find within

But they keep their distance

Fearful for their own existence

Delicate and prone to breaking

Saw it fit to delegate

Our charge, they insist

At the brink of an empty system

The white velar of particles

Swoon on ion exhalation

We gather for the ritual

Druids drawn to mistletoe

Within we hold technologies

Opaline and virulent

To birth a hole

In the universe

Our masters wish

For us to traverse

We embrace our coital engines

Seized by gestations brief affliction

Sub spacial waters break in haste

As energies crown and rupture

The bleak unknown

We kindle the fear unknown

Frenzied whine

Sensations clearly new to us

A patient voice

Bleeds momentarily

And nerves are calmed

We cannot find its source

The child is born!

Its scream is shrill!

All mouth and

Profane energies

We sooth its teething gums

And tame its temper tantrums

At once its mouth hangs wide

We pry its gnashing jaws apart

Avoid the fractious acid tongue

Of its naked singularity

Something stirs, a faint exhale

The briefest intonation

Data source streamed and received

And extrapolated

Plucked from the noisome void

Spoken no, but understood

Entangled ephemera

Like a half remembered thought

We know this?

We see with spectrum eyes

The lucent bands of creation

Fearsome magnetism

Plucked in lawless rhythm

We sense the tides set by other winds

The proof within the rabbit hole

We stare long into the dark

And feel its eyes a’watching