And the universe roars onwards
unflinching.
Is it all written?
Written before our time?
Yet we have measured the skies,
we have plotted the stars,
we have hypothisised the demise of galaxies.
We\'re playing the numbers game.
The language of the universe.
Unending. Unrepeating.
The Cosmic Script.
Where all history, all futures
and anomalies,
beyond our imagination,
All strange truths
beyond comprehension
Written before we roamed land,
before order and ice,
before chaos and fire
and their ultimate melding.
The remnants of pasts\' light
- the order -
leaves clues
to mysteries\' future
- the chaos -
and we draw our map
as we go.
We are limited
by our time
by resource,
technology
and the fundamentals
of the universe
itself.
One day
we will
reveal
what lies
in the fog.
But not yet.
Not yet.
\'Yet\'.
That is the word.
That is the journey,
fuelled by curiosity
and doubt.
The path into the darkness
at the edge of the map.
Where there be dragons,
Where there be treasures
unimagined.
\'Yet\'.
It is the duty of man
To make \'yet\' redundant.
Not to take the first step
but to lay the foundations,
the stones,
which future generations
will step upon
and do the same
for the next
until at last
we have crossed the river
of the unknown -
exhausting debate
exhausting discovery
surviving madness
- to the other side
where truth resides
and insatiable thirst
is born again
in a universe that roars
onwards
unflinching.