In the cosmic vastness, where stars are sown,
Across the silken black, by comets blown,
A whisper rides the tail of a meteor’s flight—
A secret, veiled in the universe’s quiet night.
Sometimes I think, as I gaze aloft,
Where galaxies spiral and nebulas waft,
That the silence which blankets the ether’s expanse
Is not empty at all, but a subtle, knowing dance.
Perhaps they peer through the darkness, wide and deep,
At our little blue orb as it spins in its sweep,
And with wisdom as old as the cold lunar dust,
They ponder if reaching out to us is just.
For in the corridors of the infinite, they might hide,
Watching civilizations rise, wane, and subside,
Contemplating if humanity, with its brief, bright flare,
Is ready for truths that are woven in the cosmic air.
Are they waiting for us to first find our peace,
To tame our wars, let our darker impulses cease?
Or do they know, with a sigh, an interstellar sign,
That to leave us alone might be most benign?
So, the surest sign of intelligence, vast and profound,
May not be a message carved in atoms or sound,
But in the quiet, and the watching from afar,
Knowing contact could be a comet—or a scar.
In the starlit silence, we continue our quest,
Looking for life beyond our terrestrial nest.
Yet, perhaps the greatest wisdom that they lend
Is to observe, and from afar, silently befriend.
© Susie Stiles-Wolf