First Contact

Separated by a chasm of small mindedness, As if tossed in a salad of let us think not. Meanwhile, these silky colored aromas are screaming like sour actors, For their fans to view the sounds and taste the touch Of Sagan through the Golden Gate of an ocean of worlds. United by the chasms of small mindedness; Yet, the stay-at-home explorer does not even keep in touch While chillaxing in the chaos of his borrowed home. He would not find us, so we are lost. Do not study it until you understand it; That is the finite knowledge of eternity. Doubting eyes are closed, and finally you see me, So now reach out and touch these long gone constellations. Ah, but we know Doc will not even try; no matter, All efforts will prove their worth. Then, at last lonely galaxies anxious for companionship, Will melt into the familiar arms of distant strangers, “Dozo yoroshiku, Mi amigo. Ti kanis?” Minds are opened, chasms traversed, first contact.