The Rust Hypothesis
Intuition defying reality,
belief challenging data,
probability so minuscule:
a needle in a haystack.
.
At the top of the staircase,
eternity seemed to dwell,
or the gradual unbecoming
of what is mistaken as arrival.
.
Eons passed,
and the stairs turned rusty.
Metals that withstood flames
now yielded to corrosion.
Strength revised
under new condition.
.
They heard your faint echoes,
the premonition of crumbling steps,
and the weight of silent prayers
they could not say out loud.
.
Yet sometimes,
magic weaves its thread.
Beneath, a lush realm arose,
ground nurtured by rust.
.
Loss rearranging itself:
improbabilities turn real,
and the air shimmers
with whispers of renewal.
.
Time-softened earth
welcomes transformation,
still no promise of undoing.
.
Yet, nothing is truly lost,
for even from decay,
life resumes its forming.
.
And wisdom, if it exists at all,
is not at the top of the stairs,
but in the falling and regrouping,
the loss, and its slow reconfiguring.
.
-Existential