The Cathedral of Time is a poem and song that pictures modern science as a grand cathedral where Time is the only priest and no Creator is allowed. It goes with a short Substack story about Jonah, a junior archivist who starts to question the official timeline and the flood it leaves out.
They built a nave of numbers, graphs and shine,
raised a spire of zeroes over buried mines,
glazed the walls with stolen light,
and crowned decay as monarch of endless night.
They hung bones in glass, cold, pale, strange,
and swore the dust beneath would never change.
The clocks chant: no Author, only chance;
stars dance to the rhythm of this trance.
Under vaults where data rivers flow,
the old world hides what it still knows.
A femur stands, a shattered pillar’s ghost,
a vessel burned in fire no priests now toast.
Ledgers count, but numbers won’t confess
the sins they’re summoned to redress.
The waters knew what marble can’t recall;
stones still feel the judgment of it all.
In archives where fluorescents hum,
a boy unfolds what sanctioned time has numbed.
He waits for thunder that refuses to resound,
while careful graphs dissolve into the ground.
The marble cracks, data lights grow dim;
the buried song rises, brim by brim.
Beyond their printed time, in hush and flood,
a ruined world rewrites the sacred line.