An orb of blue apart from all,
Self-righteous fantasy,
Eternal permeation...
Despite interstellar intervention.
Did orson know?
Mice once thought slow...
Denizens of the deep
Through minds eyes they creep
Locating new worlds their goal!
Are they saviors?
From the skies drop tormented matter,
A reversal of intended existence
To what end; this struggle that surrounds us?
To know it is to fear it.
For it will be we that combust when light stretches across the skies...
Will we even be able to choose how we die?