The seed of consciousness

Who says we are the first to rise,
To think, to reach, to realize?
When mind itself defies decay,
Has none before walked thought’s array?

Did whispers spark in quantum streams,
In darkened folds between our dreams?
Or long before the stars took form,
Did sentience ride the cosmic storm?

Perhaps intelligence, like flame,
Ignites wherever chaos came—
Not random, not a fleeting spark,
But law itself that bends the dark.

A war not waged with sword or hand,
But through the will
                to understand—
To weave the void into design,
To carve a shape from space and time.

If so, then are we late or lost?
A flicker, doomed to pay the cost?
Or will we rise to find the thread,
To speak with those we thought long dead?

And if they listen—do they wait,
Or measure if we challenge fate?
For should we grasp what they have known,
The war on entropy
                is our own.