Void

A poem about the self centric views of humanity and the scope of its insignificance.

But what kind of existence is it really?
Are we so fleeting that the sights we see
When we cast our gleaming orbs to the outer heavens
Can surpass all that we pride ourselves to be?
Can predate our very being?

Are we so arrogant as to cast a light
And thrust it out to the higher depths
To disregard all that transcends our range of sight
Beyond our radius of illumination?

Are we so inept that our visions are confined
To an archaic reflection of an era before our time?
That images of worlds that have long since realigned
We shall call reality?

What we claim to know always comes back to us,
But a sea of infinite stars paints the perspective
We are merely insignificant specs
Upon a particularly lively pebble
Thrust within the gravitational storm
Of a ball of nuclear fire
Lost among trillions

What kind of existence is it really?
If it were to cease
The world would keep spinning
And should the world cease to spin
Even such would go unnoticed
The eternal Void holds no grudges.