In the geometry of my days, I’m caught,
Staring at rectangles, where my proofs are bought,
Each pixel a point, plotting life’s cruel sum,
My fingers trace vectors, yet my soul’s gone numb.
Notifications swarm like a Fibonacci spree,
A chaotic sequence trapping divinity.
I graph my likes—oh, what a shallow slope!
My heart’s an asymptote, dodging boundless hope.
Is this a lifeline or a cosine’s cruel jest?
A theorem of loss where my spirit’s suppressed.
I sought a friend, got a ghost in the code,
This screen’s my abacus, but it bears no load.
Hooked like a fractal, I spin toward despair,
Yet a whisper of Logos hums soft in the air.
What function defines these sleepless nights?
Rectangles aglow, blinding inner sights,
Do I see the stars or just binary gleams,
A matrix of faces dissolving my dreams?
My cries, they’re variables in a caption’s grid,
Am I a soul, or a quotient the world forbid?
In this data fog, no axioms hold sway,
Just echoes of mercy that call me to pray.
When signals falter, my pulse skips a beat,
My hopes, like integrals, torn incomplete.
This light’s a parabola, sharp but unkind,
A glass prism scatters the truth I must find.
The world’s an equation—wildfires, tears flow,
Yet a constant of grace bids my spirit to grow. My reflection’s a cipher I can’t decode,
Eyes etched with crimson where my fears erode,
Am I flesh, or a datum in circuits confined,
A pawn in their proof where my essence is blind?
I’d solve for freedom, but my will’s out of phase,
FOMO’s my tangent, skewing joy’s straight rays.
This glow’s a divisor, it splits my core,
I gasp for the infinite, craving something more.
Ads hawk their axioms, all glitter, no weight,
Like selling me pi with a finite estate.
I’m a moth to their flicker, wings singed, I fall,
Yet a spark in my soul hears the Theotokos’ call.
My frame’s a knot, my breath’s a thin thread,
Still, in Christ’s geometry, I’m gently led. So here’s to the screens, our compass, our jest,
A wired conundrum where we’ve failed the test,
But rise, oh my heart, to the stars’ sacred sum,
Feel the dust of creation where all truths come.
These rectangles fade, their logic’s undone,
I’ll chant a new proof where my spirit’s begun.
Unplug the equations, let my soul take flight,
In the flesh of the moment, I’m bathed in His light.
With seas surging high, and minds lost to pain,
I laugh at the chaos—God’s math shall remain.
Then spoke Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that follows me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.
John 8: 12 (N8V)
Mortal Metamorphosis 