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2001: A Space Odyssey
We yearn for shapes: the violence that is flung,
The blood in iron curves along our tongue;
The coffin lit by God, His clear long lines,
The sweep of His mathematical designs.
We yearn to find the edge of time and space.
What can we know? Is it beginning, end?
Is it the embryo of Holiness?
And if we touch it, can we comprehend?
And when we find our death in ornate halls,
Where glasses break, and heavy beauty mutes
The glorious vanity of our pursuits,
We ask, What does it mean? What out there calls
To hold the weight of our vast loneliness?
We want escape, and we'll take nothing less.
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