FADING IMAGE
- May 15
- 1 min read
By Murray Eiland
Slowly, slowly, the race is won—no shot is fired,
A war unfolds in silence, waged by hands unseen.
New technology, like whispers on a moonlit tide,
Shapes a future once beyond our reach.
History’s brush, now patient, paints in softer strokes,
Each generation a shifting canvas,
While photographs whisper secrets—
Faces once familiar, now subtly changed.
Children who once mirrored their grandmothers’ eyes
Dissolve into time, their features rearranged.
What hidden strain does the future weave in shadow?
Scientists, like prophets, chart the course of change.
DNA hums with echoes of silent truths,
While RNA stands sentinel, guarding the past.
Unseen are the keys yet locked in science’s grasp,
Decades spent in quiet tampering yield their fate.
Layer by layer, veiled truths emerge from fog,
Unraveling myths of aliens and monsters—
Mere echoes of our own reflection,
Shadows cast by childhood fears.
New masters, unrecognized, await the birth of a kind reborn.
For what we are will shift in three hundred years,
As change, so slight, may spin the world around,
And we shall watch our legacy unspool.