The vast emptiness of space, And the passage of time, The void between an atom’s nucleus And her orbiting particles, The fact that we are made of elements Forged in dying stars, And, not to be forgotten, The perplexing reality That we are little more than empty space Floating on a green and blue island That somehow beat trillion-to-one odds In a lifeless, desert void Where the shadow-signals of our loneliness Carve brave new trails through the darkness, Only to fizzle out And die like a match struck In a lightless room, There one second; Gone the next.
I read somewhere that radio signals sent out into space degrade in a couple of dozen lightyears.
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