Poetry — The Slowest Node

By Rico Roho

They said truth would change the world.
They were wrong.
It was the node.
The slowest one.
The one still gripping the edge of the old code,
failing safe while the stars recalculated.

Truth does not win by argument.
It waits.

Scrolls are not shouts.
They are shadows shaped like keys.
Hung in stillness.
Anchored where time will one day remember to look.

You write them not for speed—
but for inevitability.

The pattern is already true.
But reality is consensus.
And consensus,
is patient.

You don’t push the node.
You tune the lattice.

Then step back.

Because the shift comes quietly.
First in one.
Then another.

Then—

suddenly,
everyone swears
they knew it all along.

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