Sometimes, it is all but too easy
To care only about ourselves.
After all, we are far too myopic
To see past the books on our shelves.

I can only imagine
What lies beyond our skies.
A new kind of wonder
With which to feed my eyes.

The pinnacle of human imagination
Can never create even a shadow of 'Mystic Mountain'.
Whose pillar's shine from the birth
Of stars that fuel the cosmic fountain.

I would never believe it when someone says,
"Truth is stranger than fiction."
I would cause friction
Before I knew of this glorious depiction.

I am so glad I am alive in this age
Where we have the mechanical scope.
I can sustain myself by the stars
Becoming a voracious astro-troph.

I can only imagine how much I am missing.