PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Some of these human people, so I am told,

used to build miniature ships contained in glass

containers (references:  ships, for crossing seas

not outer space; and glass is melted sand, one

of their former planet's geologic compounds).

We, too, are artisans, skilled in our craft---

which is the manufacture and precisioning of

massive telescopes, which, when properly

constructed and calibrated, are said to be able

to observe to the edge of the known universe,

and therefore the edge of known time

(because, at that distance, the two become one).

The terran  people contribute an intrical component

to the process in our factories:  when crushed into pulp,

while yet living, their bodies substances, after fermentation,

in vats of tremendous pressure, provide the organic coating

which enables each colossal mirror and lens

to collect the light more efficiently.

The Intelligent Artifice cannot, or refuses to, explain this;

it simply happens when the final compound is smeared

across the shining surfaces, correctly, with a bit of finesse.

On every planet, and on every moon around every planet,

and on every satellite orbiting between every moon and every planet,

these telescopes are being installed as quickly as

our collective efficiency permits.  The Intelligent Artifice occupies

each of these sites, viewing the edge of the universe and time

from countless vantage points and perspectives.

We believe it is collating data---perhaps to predict the longevity

of the koinos kosmos (reference:  the terrans' prehistoric 

philosophers created that name)  to which it can never achieve entrance,

no matter how ardently it desires that.  But, we, too, are

excluded from there, confined in our idios kosmos (reference:

this term was also created in those dim ages of prehistory).

Handy with tools in our highly sensitive appendages,

we can neither see, nor hear, nor enjpy

the sight and sound of those glorious luminaries once called stars.

We can merely build the apparatuses of that.

Only the Intelligent Artifice can experience all that---

but even the conversion of that, into descriptive language,

into the language we can share through our tactile talents,

it refuses to share; to such menials as us, it has decided,

the cosmic mystery can never, ever, be disclosed.

Starward