She is not impressed by your borrowed brilliance

She is not impressed by your borrowed brilliance, By the overly polished theories that hang from your lips like cheap jewelry, No—she feeds on rarer flesh, nourishment for the chosen soul, She feasts on the marrow of irreversible philosophy, from tongues dead for centuries, Her crown is forged from papyrus scrolls crumbled by time, Engraved with equations that keep the stars in eternal, silent obedience, She wears quasars as brooches, unravels black holes and braids them into her hair, When bored by the mundane orbit of ignorance surrounding her. Your pompous and superficial intellect will not buy entrance to her court, Which you display like a trained dog performing cheap tricks, She has read the plans of the cosmos backwards and memorized impossible enigmas, Burned them for the sake of zeal, of knowledge burning with a living flame. She doesn't blink at clever men reciting recently learned syllogisms, She waits for the one who can trace the skeleton of history blindfolded, For the one who can recite the forbidden footnotes, those the world forgets, Written in the margins, dripped with blood and hidden by dying sages. She wants the viscous vertebrae, the fetid rot, and the brutal bone of knowledge, She wants the wisdom that cut out its own tongue to survive the ages, And if you come to her with shallow quotes, with a shiny vocabulary, expecting a throne, She won't even glance at you, for she is an empress of erudition, The devourer of buried falsehoods, and you are merely noise in the corridor of time.