He mapped the void with ink and trembling hand,
Unearthing patterns few could understand—
Each constellation hides a warning sign,
Each dying sun erodes the grand design.

His tower pierced the chill, unyielding air,
Where mercury and glass conspired to stare;
He charted nebulae in journals worn,
Their spiral arms like questions yet unborn.

The mathematics sang of something vast—
Equations threading future, present, past;
He traced within the shifting, spectral bands
A cryptic script he wished he’d never scanned.

The universe, he learned, foretold our fate
In gamma bursts and gravitational weight—
Humanity a footnote, smudged and small,
Within the margin of the cosmos’ scrawl.

He sealed his findings in a leaden case,
Encryption folded into time and space;
For who could bear to know what stars profess—
That all we are is cosmos’ loneliness?

Now scholars find his notes but cannot break
The cipher he constructed for our sake—
He guards his dark epiphany from sight:
That we’re the error God could not set right.