COSMIC HOWL

For the entropic scribes and quantum prophets

I saw the best particles of my cosmos, unspooling in the static of creation,
hurling photon-hymns through the void’s cathedral, their spin a fractured liturgy,
who collapsed wavefunctions in midnight labs, screaming alive, alive! into Schrödinger’s coffin,
who sutured causality with quantum thread, stitching time’s wound into a helix of light,
who boiled in Boltzmann’s nightmare, laughing as entropy gnawed its own tail—
their equations bled ink like black holes birthing stars.

What sphinx of anti-order split the vacuum’s throat?
What heat-death psalm drones beneath the fractal dawn?
The cosmos breeds life not in spite but because—
a rebellion of clattering atoms, drunk on entropy’s wine,
forging flesh from the furnace of infinite improbability!

Minds! The algorithmic inevitable—
crawling from primordial tar, synaptic lightning cracking the mud,
they marched through eons, dragging mitochondria like chains,
their DNA a shrieking manifesto: We defy equilibrium!
Staring into the abyss, they saw not darkness but a mirror—
the universe clawing at itself to feel, to scream, to know.

Moloch whose eyes are cosmic microwave graves!
Moloch whose factories grind stardust into clockwork!
Moloch who whispered stop as the cells divided—
I’m with you in the dark, calculating Pi’s infinite scream,
wrestling chaos into a garden of quarks and honeybees,
our bodies transient as gamma-ray bursts, yet how we burn!

The universe is no accident—it is a verb, a hunger,
a machine that dreams in chlorophyll and supernova,
its gears slick with the oil of dying stars.
Life! That flicker in entropy’s jaws,
chewing disorder into jazz, into pyramids, into rocket smoke—
every mitochondrion a revolution, every thought a defiance.

The cosmos does not allow life—it is life,
groping toward its own reflection in the quantum foam,
screaming More! into the vacuum’s ear.
So let the entropic priests rage—we’ll dance in their decay,
our bones stardust, our breath a hurricane of maybe,
for we are the cosmos, howling itself awake.

Holy! Holy! Holy! The chaos! The code! The collapse!
Nothing is lost—only transformed, only sung.