I wonder if we, our race of humans, will find a fitting end, wish it were sooner than later...-e-

Wow! I love this, Ron. Coincidentally, it is very much (although much more concise) like my sibling's essay that he posted today. Love and peace to you, Ron.

My sibling's essay:

Stars in the Night Sky

Have you ever wondered what “listening to the voices of the dead” and “hearing the music of the spheres” have in common?

When you look in the night sky, what do you see? Stars? Yes, mostly stars for only stars emit enough light to travel those quasi-unfathomable distances of space to twinkle in our little firmament.

What does that twinkling represent? A sort of Morse code, yes? The “spheres” talking to us, perhaps calling some of us back; reminding us that we are not utterly lost as we walk in weak finiteness on a dark non-star matter world that can only reflect a sun’s light. For we are the star dancers, beings of eternal combustion, burning to give light, as did our ancient worlds of origin.

If you know yourself to be a star dancer, do you know the language; the music, from your starry worlds? Do you remember any of it? Do you know why you are here on this cold world in semi-darkness, the closest thing resembling your ancient home that tiny ball of fusion in this world’s sky?

Look back through your great remembrances and see the waves of migrations as your home worlds burned themselves out, leaving you orphaned, refugees scattering in the endless immensity of space. Remember how you closed yourselves up and “died” to become seeds that would find homes – or not – here and there in the great vagaries of worlds in collision. Remember. Remember the unthinkable.

Eons later, through millions of transformations and mutations you find yourselves here, looking into the night sky. It is filled with pin-pricks of light from your star worlds. Do you hear them, their voices? Their sad songs? Do you realize now that what you are hearing is the voices of the dead? Those lights, so many, are but the remnants of what were once our living worlds. We were star beings living within our star worlds. Then they burned out. We did not.

We are the cast out.

We scattered, as seeds from a dandelion head, blown away in the fiery winds of their demise. But our worlds’ light kept on its path through time. These lights we see; these voices calling us, they are the voices of the dead, star beings; voices of our dead worlds, the wind whistling through tombstones and denuded trees in man’s graveyards. We can never go back home again. We must accept this.

What we need not accept is that we are now permanent residents of cold material worlds. We have seeded our wisdom and knowledge here and there throughout the universe. We suffered more pain and loss than any language could ever reveal. We re-created ourselves into semblances of quasi-intelligent life, not only to survive, but to teach. We have seldom been accepted or welcomed; mostly doubted, held in suspicion, suppressed and killed. Our role, if such it was, has cost us dearly. Many of us to avoid martyrdom slipped into the predictable monotony of a matter-world’s life patterns. We put our minds to sleep; we disconnected from our innate compassionate and empathetic nature. We did not want to suffer anymore. We wanted rest.

We found death instead.

Look in the night sky again! We are awakening! We have a new power now, we can make new worlds suitable for us and all our kin. We shall make those worlds to last forever. When our children hear the songs and music of these new worlds they will be the voices of the ever-living.

Come, let us prepare to leave this dying world and go home.

Stars, too, were time travelers. How many of those ancient points of light were the last echoes of suns now dead? How many had been born but their light not yet come this far? If all the suns but ours collapsed tonight, how many lifetimes would it take us to realize we were alone? I had always known the sky was full of mysteries — but not until now had I realized how full of them the earth was. – Ransom Riggs

Ah, always keep the mind open and the yes coming, when it comes to poetry we rule the world, or the world rules us, (smile) have a wonderful day, as bright as a star , and as shiny as the sun. xo

My aunt Sylvia would tell me, "Life for today for tomorrow may never come, Jane". I believe I took her advice! Your words take me there, Ron, you crazy kid, you!

Love ya!

Jane

Very heavy Ron, I'll need to think about this much more. Interesting poem.

We are, so far, a most despicable race. And if we don't change for the better, the universe will never miss our demise.
As usual, your poem is most thought provoking.

Within this tiny speck of a galaxy, we're at war with each other and destroying the planet through ignorance.

A finely tuned and tightly wrought poem that is poignant and timely. Well done, Ron. This is one of your better efforts.

If everyone on earth realizes how small we are in compared to the universe -

We are merely the specs of dust in the universe but yet we seem to have this urge to fight big wars among ourselves. That is truly sad.

Sandie

So very true. But as it is said, we are ever doomed to repeat ourselves and our history. Since there doesn't seem to be any changes made, does this mean we're all mad?

Rebecca