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Zack Murray Oct 2012
August 10th, you seemed so distant
Not quite as distant as the barrel of one gun
The gun that fired the shot that would stun
The scientific world, from Rutherford to Niels Bohr
To find out esteemed fellow scientist Moseley was no more

But before that, in 1913
X-ray spectra was naught more than a dream
Before diffraction through crystals became the truth
The wavelengths needed a meaning, and there was proof
You developed a mathematical system without flaw
One so great, it was named "Moseley's law"

Mendeleev had the right idea, but not a plan
Could not arrange the elements the way that you now can
Without you, my sir, we would not have had this premium
To enjoy the elements technetium, hafnium, promethium, and rhenium
These gaps that like stars littered the periodic table
Were filled with ease, and the cosmos became stable

You had set the foundation for crystallography of x-rays
A method of determining arrangement that is still used in modern days
The first machines in use were those for which you had the design
But their widespread use you could not see as there simply was no time
For during a battle, as you made the phone set run
A bullet took your grace away, a scientist dying young
Bryant Aug 2018
Your glare juts wide and traps me in an obtuse corner
Varying degrees of turpitude
Pivoting around the axis
Beaming rays of optimism
Linear into the continuum, until infinitesimal
An exertion with no assertion of retrieval
A harbinger screaming into a desolate chasm

"Nothing stirs."

You only have interest in superfluous self-degradation
Pessimistic introspection
Mocking your molecular geometry
Resisting the valancing
Fearing the internal reaction
Not noble, but wholly and completely nothing
Retaining no mass or substance
Your presence in the physical world is an irregularity, an enigma

I'm reaching for you
Breaching your flesh like an apparition, a translucent figment of the shell that once contained your potential

I am one of the few
I can observe you
Your spectral glow haunts and hypnotizes me like the spiraling eyes of the cobra

"If you could witness your fate in the the third person; would you?"

I can observe me

We converge,
Like vinegar and baking soda
Erupting with my bubbling destructionism; using your vessel as a medium

Ground zero
Inconveniently located at the epicenter of my quaking misfortune

Buried alive since exhumed from the womb
Every breath shorter than the last

A pilgramage of zombies
The festering runs deep
Curdling blood
Clotting and clogging
Coagulation in the vein
Withering remnants in are wake

Cyclical contaminyation
Praying for a cure
Begging for an antidote
Sleeping with the virus

— The End —