Space, Or The End And The Beginning of It All
Space humbles the proudest of us all
It's mere existence fates the wit-touched saints to fall
It erases the quietest whistle and overpowers the loudest roar
And forgets the oldest of ancient years-in-the-coming lore
It births existence yet always envelops its ill-fated creations
In the hit-and-run pace of the jaw-dropping nations
It’s the feeling between people sitting adjacent to each other
Like the essence of the resounding population’s wuther
It's the feeling of life approaching much too quickly as the sandy-shored wind hurdles into your hair
As the racket doesn't stop to acknowledge your care
It's the noise when pebbles skip across the floodplain that incites uprisings
The view of the cascades after the scheme they’ve been devising
When cliffs falter in their ever-effervescent approach toward oceans of endlessness
When the aroma wafts through your homely, familiar mess
It’s somehow always there in the livelihoods of the generation,
Yet its existence has never left the melancholy station
It is surprisingly wistful yet can find satisfaction in its greatly malicious deeds
Though its briefly-overthought answers disregard all our needs
It closes in on the ones around it, squeezing, suffocating, sustaining
And it's behind the commonwealth, constantly training
It's the experience you can find in the alleyways and corridors that you can only refer to as “wild”
It's the morning when all you can see are arms over the faces that once smiled
It's the night when luminescence envelops all you know
The ruthless, understanding, all-encompassing glow
That holds your hand and ties your diamond lace
In the wondering, depressive space