The Urge to Propagate
The stars have names and ages we assign, But deep inside, they follow one design: When gravity grows heavy, tense, and deep, A supernova breaks the cosmic sleep. It bursts, not out of malice or of spite, But scatters seeds of darkness into light. Across the void, where silent wonders pass, It propagates the race of heavy mass. Then turn the gaze to things too small to mind, The tiny creature that all fears resigned: The tardigrade, enduring fire and frost, The map of self that never shall be lost. It shrinks the frame, it waits in crystalline trust, A silent promise to return from dust. Though decades turn and empires fade away, It holds the blueprint for a future day. It knows the vessel fails, the form is frail, But the essential message must not fail. The plant, rooted deep where darkness lies, Sends fragrant signals to the summer skies. Through wind and insect, pollen drifts afar, Extending life beyond its resting scar. The silent root goes searching, deep and long, For water and t...