Our purpose is limited
When we spread it across the inked skies
And make ourselves known to all that will listen
Yet the stars do not speak back
For no sound is made in the universe
With every noise that surrounds you
It does not truly exist
It is not heard by those
Who are beyond what we see
Yet we speak to each other
Holding onto a constant chain
Of reassurance
That we are heard by something
For if an insect were to understand
What we had to say
We would still find satisfaction in ourselves
The truth to all of the sounds
That spread themselves to the atmosphere
The invisible barrier of our dreams
Is that if the creation is scarce
It will be more desired
If our words were to be important
If every conversation could cure cancer
If there were never a single breath to be wasted
Our knowledge could rise above the stars
That label our inabilities to reach beyond
Our miniature capabilities
Instead we use our words to execute our enemies
We use our words to create a different kind of silence
A silence with a haunting past
A silence that though will never be heard
It will always be known
And remembered.