Poems.

Universe.

I can't even scream to the universe,
at the top of my lungs to ask her,
what the hell is going on here?

I was told sound can't travel in space.

Do you think the universe did that as a joke?

That she's right up there ready to listen,
but once we get smart enough to think to inquire how the existence of earth has transpired,
we'll learn science said no.

Shouts can't reach higher than the atmosphere level down here.

So we'll fire a rocket.
Brilliant plan with an offering and a list of questions in hand,
"Hello!" we exclaim at the top of our lungs to the universe.
But she can't hear.

So we try again.
Little louder this time.

"Excuse me," we shriek, "I'll think you'll find this is as important to you as it is to me."
But the universe can't hear you, she's sound asleep.

She couldn't have done it on purpose you see, because with no sound she's as lonely as you,
even me.

Who would wish upon themselves such destiny, when anything in the universe could be done?

So we're all alone,
I conclude from the lack of reply,
it's up to us I suppose to find truth in the sky.