The Usurper’s Dome
They dreamed of stars, not rank nor gain, Of sparking minds through Saturn’s reign.
A dome was built to lift the gaze — Not serve careers or vain displays.
Through winter winds and skeptic eyes, They carved a path beneath the skies.
No title, only work and fire— An architect’s and teacher’s choir.
But then came flash, and thirst for praise— He rose who’d mocked the early phase.
The Usurper, by office crowned, Yet lost when real work came around.
He’d laughed at dreams, dismissed the quest, Then claimed it all when it looked best.
No star he knew, no beam he bore— Just keys that locked the rightful door.
With subtle threats and sharpened tone, He made the strongest stand alone.
Pushed from the work her hands had led, Because her light burned far ahead.
He dimmed her light to guard his pride— Too small to stand with her beside.
His lead applauded every blow— And helped to strike what threatened show.
And so he crowned himself instead. A king of air, in others’ stead.
No one spoke out, nor stood beside— Their silence roared, their eyes were wide.
Their loyalty bent toward the throne— And so they left her all alone.
He knew too little, stood alone— So gathered minds not of his own.
They watched amazed, unsure just how— Such tools were theirs—unearned, somehow.
A dome complete, with crafted might— Appeared as if from purest light.
Now proudly through the dome he strides, With honored guests at either side.
He shows the glass, the scope, the sky— While truth stays hidden, passing by.
He claims the vision as his own, Though none of it was his to hone.
Let his plaque hang—let titles swell— But domes remember who built well.
Each rivet hums beneath the gloss: Who taught for truth—and who for boss.
She was not first—nor was he new. He’d buried fire where’er it grew.
Each theft refined, each voice undone— But truth will name what he has done.
And in its shadow, dreams withdrew— A light put out that dared shine true.
Had she held back, she’d stand far more— But gave it all—and closed that door.
Epilogue
Yet domes endure when titles fade,
And truth outlives the masquerade.
For work born honest, freely shown,
Will rise long after crowns are gone.
Le numéro 27