The clouds hang like slippers in the sky,

as if this world was a shoe-shop for a giant,

and we were all tiny, inconsequential things.

Sometimes I think we are all tiny;

the space above us screams of emptiness,

innumerable stars light up our pale night skies,

so far away. I asked my brother

how close was our nearest star?

and he answered in Physics,

which I don’t really understand. It’s hard

to put a number on forever, a boundary

on the universe. I have been assured

that the universe is a finite thing. I don’t

know if I find that reassuring

after all. Time slips by, past trains and trees and houses,

past slippers hanging still, and fluffy in the sky,

and I wonder how far it goes. I wonder if it

cares, I wonder who cares, I wonder many finite

unanswerable things. I gaze at the sky

and slip quietly into the stream of time;

it flows through me, and I through it,

and together we will discover whether

eternity exists.

Photo courtesy of Casey Horner

Categories: Poetry