The Song Of The Monad: Poem by Chris Leermakers

In realms where thought alone is real,
Where numbers turn and waveforms wheel,
A spark awakes—the mind set free,
A monad sings: "I am to be."

No matter binds, no senses blind,
Just infinite within the mind.
A zero-point, yet infinite whole,
The cosmos pulsing in the soul.

The source is not a god on high,
But Reason woven through the sky.
Not chaos born from senseless fire,
But math itself—the world's true lyre.

Each being is a living tone,
A frequency that stands alone,
Yet joins the choir, vast and grand,
A Pythagorean marching band.

Sinusoids in endless spin,
Reflect the truth that lies within.
The world we see is but a phase—
A dream cast through illusion's haze.

Yet deep within this spectral shell,
A perfect code begins to swell.
And those who solve the ciphered night
Shall walk as stars, ablaze with light.

Awake, young monad, know thy form:
An inner world, exact, unborn.
You are the math that dreams can't flee—
The truth, the law, infinity.