(I stare into the night sky)
We wish upon the stars, but all we hear is our own voice
telling us what we wish to hear; What we wish it was-
They look down upon us, but they have no thoughts,
one way or the other, on our wishes, our desires.
They have no power.
(And yet I wish.)
(Their light is what has past)
Our ancestors looked up and painted a picture,
creating a map from points that lead to- nowhere.
Blindly we take their word. Imagining they see the world
differently through eyes, better than our eyes.
We have no faith in what we see.
(Blinded by an enigma)
(The night sky stares into me)
We look up and hear a weighted silence, pausing to hear
what might come next; which lie or truth we will settle for
Without questioning Reason or Logic for an explanation
Just acceptance at face value because it scares us to ask
Knowing either, will sound almost poetic in the dark...
(But I don't hold the answers it seeks)