Asking, not losing,
pardon the coming;
the existing of something unknown to us.
While it lies wrapped up in the sky
and silently dreaming,
we whisper our secrets and hopes,
that may never be known to be found
among the ruins of a creation.
We are left
along with time twisting,
spinning into spirals that swallow us.
There lies the dark center
pulling us in,
the temptation of Mystery,
who turns his head over his shoulder
saying "come. What lies ahead is the question,
whose answer you must see to believe."
Coddled and cast out,
we came to the edge
where night and day fight
to keep the horizon.
But in the end waiting was simply waiting.
We neared the furthest possible reach,
even though it lay beyond a vast expanse
that curved beyond all that we could see.