It stood without a stone or beam,
but grafted from a shared dream,
a architecture of the scheme
that flowed in reason's steady stream.
its pillars,
carved with careful hand,
were truths the age could understand,
a contract made with shifting sand,
but firm,
it seemed,
across the land.
the roof was thatched with golden rule,
the hearth was kept in learning's school.
it was,
for fool and also sage,
the noble,
quiet heart of every age.
but wind has found the latent flaw,
the unseen and insistent thaw
that pulls the mortar from the seam,
and fractures the collective dream.

so we,
the tenants of the chill,
who feel the creeping of the ill,
seek not to mend,
but to fulfill
a mandate to contain the still.
we stuff the cracks with pleasant sound,
with reasoned talk and talk profound,
with data streams that wrap around
the echo of the cracking ground.
we pump in air,
a bland and warm
defense against the coming storm,
a synthetic,
uniform
barrier to keep out form.
this insulation,
thick and deep,
a manufactured,
endless sleep,
where ancient angels cannot creep,
and promises are cheap to keep.

the pressure builds,
the structure groans,
we cannot live with just the tones
of our own and lonely moans,
so we project our stifled owns.
we launch the essence we distilled,
the hope that history has killed,
upon a rocket,
passion-filled,
to have the vacuum of space filled.
to mars we send our hollow art,
a payload from the bleeding heart,
a meticulously crafted part
of us we're desperate to impart.
again,
again,
the ships ascend,
a means to a delusive end,
a message we must outward send
because we cannot comprehend.

and when the spectacle is done,
the silent,
cold,
and distant sun
gleams on what our hands have won,
the race is lost before it's run.
for in the stark and airless night,
devoid of atmosphere or light,
our exported,
fragile flight
reflects a more unyielding contrast.
it shows the temple,
small and brown,
its roof half cracked,
its glory down,
a forgotten,
crumbling crown
on the edge of a ghost town.
and at its base,
no new design,
just the old,
enduring line
of the foundation,
yours and mine,
and a choice,
to build,
or to resign.