The Ages of Galileo

Once shades of Euclid burrowed into things,
Grew warm and restful, so their forms could yawn
And stretch forth reason's word on motion's wings.
Their souls, contented, fathered nature's laws,
Then slept in depths of substance purified--
In dreams of matter stripped of character.
Now prisoned by their comfort's pleasant lies
(A luxury of wealth become inert),
Three centuries blinked as dull heirs critiqued
And catalogued misfortune's quiet cells.
Time chipped and chiseled, probed for all that's weak,
Until foundations cracked and structures fell.
The age that seeks its source finds empty tombs;
The age that mourns the dead embodies truth.