A Single

How Noah must have smiled when the doveReturned to his ark confirming life.But the golden records gliding throughA never-ending nothingness, even if played,Will never feature in a human hit parade.The twin symbols of a fantastic hope,The Voyagers, glide beyond our prayers.The black stuff of space is composedOf a supreme indifference existing forever.We might dream until our race decaysOf a cosmic olive branch landing on our shores –But the dream confirms only what we are:Sad, proud dreamers on a one-way voyageTo nowhere.