I traced a curve through empty air, but found no point to start,
A tangent line kept slipping as I tried to play its part.
Dividing time like brittle glass, a derivative in twain revealed,
The moment motion dares to dawn, the point where stillness learns to feel.
A function falls out, but does it land? The logistic map erodes in hand.
I chase the tail of what I prove, but truths escape as soon as planned.
Is space a lie? Is time a joke? A sum of steps too small to note?
A silent scream inside the math, where logic laughs then comes unspoked.
The reals, they reel with arrogance, they claim the world’s so smooth,
But quantum grains defy the chains of numbers misconstrued.
A law of waves, these ultraviolet delights have ultraviolent ends
Yet nature whispered,"Not so fast," and pulled the spectrum in.
There's something strange where numbers break,
A shadow deep that math can't shake.
The galaxy grins in spiral arms, secrets not ours to command.
A set of truths, yet missing one—perhaps we’ll never understand.
Planck steps on an endless line, where limits break but can't define,
An arrow loosed that never flies, just ghosts along the cracks of time.
Zeno taunts, he knows the trick—not forever, ever quick,
The smallest speed's a question mark, the first move hides within the dark.
Gravity bends, while particles snap, theories with no overlap.
Relativity reigns the vast, yet breaks apart when squeezed too fast.
Black holes collapse, but do they track? A singularity, or just bad math?
Infinity's a siren’s scream, since no one's ever seen it gleam.
All I know inferred from start, yet logic says"don’t trust the heart."
All I sense, all I perceive- denied by the rules that they helped conceive
A house of Principia built high and grand, yet sinks like dust through shifting sand,
No axiom stands without skeletons—theorems loop back, till none remain.
There's something strange where numbers break,
A shadow deep that math can't shake.
The galaxy grins in spiral arms, secrets not ours to command.
A set of truths, yet missing one—perhaps we’ll never understand.
Gödel pens his theorem and for ink he uses doubt,
No system built can hold itself, some truths must stay left out.
If equations are just hubris, then physics’ a house of cards,
A scaffold made of missing steps, foundations built on scars.
If all we know is but a dream, then numbers, too, are make-believe.
An answer caged, a thought undone, a model erased before begun
There's something strange where numbers break,
A shadow deep that math can't shake.
A universe that clicks in place, an illusion for the damned.
A set of truths, yet missing one—perhaps one day we’ll understand.
