A Poem: Theta

Resonating beyond what you could possibly ever imagine
Simply because, it's just "too much" to fathom

Your pale leather fashion suits your forwarded brashness
Refracted to the hertz of the seed at which you've scattered

Gamma, sweet gamma

A truce to the overlords
A chalice to the overseers

Reaching into the satchel of all which you've gathered
Clung to the foundation of all matter that matters

In short:

Hats off to the Mad-Hatter