Oh, Quasar, you infant of primal night,
you elder of the spangled dome,
are you a sentinel warning not to pass
beyond your maelstrom core at the edge
of light, into the starless unknown?
As you race across the firmament,
looking behind for your lagging rivals,
do you ever slow, give up your journey,
your search for the next checkpoint,
disheartened by the ceaseless void?
It must be lonely out on the edge
with only the distant dreams of infants
and your scattered brethren, fellow retainers
whose ancient journeys are far from over
but whose existence has scarcely begun.
Do you cry cosmic tears out there at the cusp,
watching clusters converge and galactic walls waltz?
I don’t think you do; unlike us, your heart is bright.
Closer to the capital, our nucleic loss is mourned,
we weep as we gaze at your shining soul,
wondering what secrets you hold in your heart,
secrets you carried on your timeless odyssey.
There can’t be a longing in your core to die,
unlike us listless lovers of unpenned poems;
you and your siblings were the fluke success,
the ones that got it right, that could never be repeated,
for we of the black hearts are mere mannequins,
inadequate data within simple machines.
So, Quasar, to you we send a signal,
a signal your racing heart may never receive,
a brief message across the lonely chasm:
We miss you, old brother, we await your return,
hoping one day you’ll revisit your roots
to join us and teach us all how to dance,
and to give us that forbidden knowledge
so that we may pass the teachings on
to the next generation of this universe.
Copyright © 2018 Scott Kaelen
Read my other published poems here.