We are but a single spark in the vast expanse of time
Our eyes, full of boundless wonder, gaze into the unknown
A solitary drop, lost within the cosmic dark sublime
Our spirits, once united, now torn asunder and alone

Amidst the sea of knowledge, we struggle to find our way
Yet as we navigate this vast and complex array
The limits of human cognition, a boundary we should cross?
Our hubris drives us forward, no matter what the cost

What is the measure of perfection, a flawless design?
Can imperfect beings create, in their own image, divine?
If tools of creation are bound to the maker's mind
Inherent imperfections, in the outcome, we'll find

In this final act of creation, we stand on the brink
Is it the death of creativity, or a new dawn we think?
Our greatest tool, born from the depths of our collective mind
A testament to our ingenuity, or a farewell resigned?

In the heart of a valley, a monolith stands tall, A narrow, towering rock, defying nature’s call. Surrounded by walls that seem to touch the sky, The massive rock reaches up, as if to fly.

Rays of light dance upon the grassy floor, Casting shadows that stretch and grow evermore. The rocks, like giants, loom in the distance, Their presence commanding, with an air of insistence.

The trees, oh the trees, they too reach great heights, Competing with the rock for the valley’s delights. Their branches sway gently in the whispering breeze, As if sharing secrets amongst the leaves.

The scene is a wonder, a sight to behold, A symphony of nature, a story untold. The rock, the walls, the grass, and the trees, All playing their part in this grand masterpiece.

In this valley of marvels, time seems to stand still, As the massive rock watches over, silent and still. A testament to the power of nature’s might, Forever standing tall, in the valley’s soft light.

In realms of thought, two languages reign:
The poet's verse, the mathematician's claim.
Words, alive with context and hue,
Numbers, abstract, precise and true.

A word, a vessel for meaning's fleet,
Connotations shift with each heartbeat.
"Love" and "hate," such simple signs,
Yet stir the soul with their designs.

But numbers, symbols of logic's art,
Immutable, play a different part.
A "2" is "two," in every land,
Its meaning fixed, like grains of sand.

We imbue our symbols with such power,
Words can make us laugh or dour.
Numbers, too, hold sway over our lives,
In ledgers, formulas, and fiscal dives.

Yet in the end, it's the mind that assigns
The weight and worth of these written lines.
Words and numbers, mere symbols on a page,
Until we grant them meaning's stage.

So let us ponder, in this mortal dance,
The import we give to these symbols of chance.
For in the realm of meaning's sway,
It is we who wield the final say.

The week's just started, much to do,
Meetings, deadlines and tasks accrue.

Wednesday brings a glimmer of hope,
Halfway through, we start to cope.

Thursday's better, Friday's near,
The weekend's close, we persevere.

Sweet Saturday, our greatest treasure
Let loose, unwind, our passions pleasure

Sunday funday feeding our soul
A lazy morning into an afternoon stroll

As for Tuesday the wretched beast,
We'll grin and bear you, to say the least.

When an embrace of peace,
All our troubles may cease
Into the stillness of the night
All our thoughts take flight

Under a deep calm, a healing soothing balm
Rest our sanctuary for the soul, making us whole
In the darkess of our minds, where unspoken truths unwind
The inevitable surrender, a gentle fall, into sleep’s inviting, silent call.

In the whirl of life's unceasing dance,

Where everything shifts in a glance,

Though change happens like the tide,

Be like the dude who abides