Looking ever forward towards what?
The hope of a peaceful death?
An end to the madness that defies
your journey towards knowledge, towards self?
Needing more, you reach for it
groping in the dark, a blind man in the sun.
You put the universe in ordered terms
yet it remains beyond your ability to understand.
An illusion of order, of control.
The universe you create through discovery,
nonexistent before you reveal and destroy it.
Envelope yourself in it, feel it, eat it, drink it,
until you realize you are being smothered by reality.
Devoured by something the scope of which you cannot comprehend.
You choke on it, and it on you.
Then you are vomited back into the stars
to resume your quest for a something by which to measure your being.
Something that will let you say: "I am here, and I always will be."