Constellation

I ask myself - As I watch the sky,
Will we always feel forlorn?,
Have lost touch with our origin?,
How were those stars born?.

Staring vacant at the untold truth,
Listening, reading, searching blind,
Questioning an answer,
that is too obvious to find.

When I look up to the stars,
The answers dance and laugh at me,
I feel small, fragile and alone,
And lost in my stupidity.

I question what I know,
Which clearly can't be very much,
I question everything I'm told,
Everything I see or touch.

Each question asks another,
Leaving the former without close,
forming tiny constellations,
Of which I'm sure no person knows.

Around in circles like the stars,
For far longer than we've known,
Others have stared up at the sky,
And questioned if we are alone.