The Scientist’s Son

Your place, my son, is here,
Your canvas is life itself,
Upon which you will
draw your greatest creations.

Your place, my son, is here,
Nestled amongst the divine,
The biological alchemist
of a beautiful new world.

Your place, my son, is here,
Your hand as Clotho’s shuttle,
Your thread the resounding defiance
of poor Atropos’s shears.

Now come sit, my son,
Climb high upon my knee,
And let me teach you
how to wield the loom of life.

– Sam


(This was written while trying to stay awake on a drive from Cincinnati to Chicago… if any deity is listening, if you can install some hills or twists+turns in Ohio, that would be great :p)


2 thoughts on “The Scientist’s Son

  1. So you were writing while driving in a zombified state?

    I’m thinking it was good there were no hills twists or turns. 😛

    Jokes aside, nice write.

    Liked by 2 people

    • I was fully zombified, the only interesting thing for the 300-odd miles flat, ruler-straight road is a windfarm (happiest 30 seconds of my driving life)… My kingdom for some South-African taxis driving in the emergency lane or trying to play bumper tag.

      Thanks! It’s been sitting around in my archives for months, so thought why not throw it online…

      Liked by 1 person

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