Thunder cracks across the marble court,
Where Reason stands, accused and pale,
Lightning scrawls its jagged retort
On scrolls where ancient verdicts fail.
The gavel is a hammer in the storm,
The jury: shadows cast by doubt—
Each mind, a tempest barely warm,
Each heart, a flicker fighting out.
O Reason, architect of Babel’s pride,
You built your ladders rung by rung,
But found the clouds refuse to bide
The logic spoken by your tongue.
Your syllogisms—iron-clad—
Now rust beneath the acid rain,
Your proofs, once certain, now unclad
By paradox and phantom pain.
The gods of thunder mock your trial,
Their laughter shakes the pillars down.
What use is reason’s measured mile
When chaos wears the victor’s crown?
Yet still, you plead in trembling light,
A candle flickering in the gale:
“Though storms may swallow up the night,
The dawn is born where thinkers fail.”
So let the thunder have its say,
Let Reason stand, both scarred and wise.
For every storm that sweeps away
Leaves clearer air for newer skies.

…

DCG