inspiration + perspiration = invention :: T. Edison ::
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A superterrestrial creation that’s
smooth, slick, enchanting,
a marvel of modern machinery and neurologic nostalgia.
A 50-year project that lasted for much longer.
But it will outlive the scoffers.
Soon all will marvel at the
great, glorious, wonderful
sight that sink sweetly, serenely into space.
We'll find morning within the distant past, peer backwards in time for answers, analyze the stars until no song's left unscripted.
And now that our course is set, all our treasures used for the making, all our labor used for the building, all our
time, energy, power
used,
Are we close to creating a world where all faults are rooted out and we leave the divine behind as we bottle humanity?
What on Earth will we do now we've no vision left to see?
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