A punk ignites the revolutionary
Pierces the armor of Darwin's reality
The audience expects a capricious morning glory
Avoiding cypress trails of social inhospitality
Flash-burned fingers mingle over the fuze
A sparkle takes and the cautious fingers move
Smoldering fumes color space with gray hues
Anticipation abates to silence as the universe is loose
The fantasia of fan tracery flames betray
In a new and exonerating way
A single, sudden explosion is all they ever claim
And a dying dance of sparkles is all that remains
The question remains, where do sparkles go
After they've fallen and have finished their show?
Who lit the fuse, and how long ago?
Is the end something we aught to know?
A burned-out, cardboard husk litters the square
The sultry smoke still lingers in the air
The audience goes home and forgets what was there
Or was scientific theory only a calculated error.