There's a tracer, pushing its restraints away, confident
Away it goes, towards escape, towards being free;
Unaware of its karma, gathering a pile of mass
Right ahead of itself, the environment slows it down
Until the dead, passive mass reaches criticality;
This is where the tracer, ballistic, proud, has to stop.
But here's the catch;
The tracer has learnt to fool the world.
It reduces its step size, and what you then see
Will blow your mind, and the tracer away to infinity.
What often appears dead, has still some life left.
No comments:
Post a Comment