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Literature Text
What does the sky hold?
Is it the stars and the moon and the brilliant sun?
No, they're all floating,
unhindered and unbound,
through the vast expanse of space.
The blue skies of a little planet
matter nothing to them.
Is it the clouds,
the scudding, vaporous, nigh-immaterial clouds
of white and grey?
No, they're confined by the sky,
but there is nothing
that can truly cage the clouds
and restrain their never-ceasing motion and evolution
from shape to shape to unending shape.
Does the sky hold the light that enters it,
fleeting and instantaneous?
Photons behaving as waves behaving as p a r t i c l e s behaving as waves -
their very nature is ridiculous,
almost absurdly defined -
so why would they feel
the arbitrary need
to let a section of air try to fence them in?
No, none of these is able to be contained by the sky;
what the sky truly holds
is the hopes and dreams
of millions and billions of human beings.
It is the limit
to our imagination and creativity;
it is the place
where true beauty exists
in the ephemeral forms of fleeting colours
and the silvery-speckled velvet black
of the night's face;
it is where our very breaths go to hold up
our varied conceptions of the heavens.
Is it the stars and the moon and the brilliant sun?
No, they're all floating,
unhindered and unbound,
through the vast expanse of space.
The blue skies of a little planet
matter nothing to them.
Is it the clouds,
the scudding, vaporous, nigh-immaterial clouds
of white and grey?
No, they're confined by the sky,
but there is nothing
that can truly cage the clouds
and restrain their never-ceasing motion and evolution
from shape to shape to unending shape.
Does the sky hold the light that enters it,
fleeting and instantaneous?
Photons behaving as waves behaving as p a r t i c l e s behaving as waves -
their very nature is ridiculous,
almost absurdly defined -
so why would they feel
the arbitrary need
to let a section of air try to fence them in?
No, none of these is able to be contained by the sky;
what the sky truly holds
is the hopes and dreams
of millions and billions of human beings.
It is the limit
to our imagination and creativity;
it is the place
where true beauty exists
in the ephemeral forms of fleeting colours
and the silvery-speckled velvet black
of the night's face;
it is where our very breaths go to hold up
our varied conceptions of the heavens.
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