Where No One Has Gone
There lies within us
a hidden instinct
that pushes us upwards.
This is what compels us
to press our baby hands against the ground
and wobble upright, toddling erect
in defiance of gravity.
This is what drives us
up the steep sides of mountains,
so far that not even the air
This is what seduces us
away from the safety of the plains,
up to the perilous peaks –
and onward, upward yet
to the black savagery of space.
There is something in us that rises
and lifts our eyes to follow,
striving to bring our bodies along
even beyond their endurance,
a drive as deep and sure
as that which causes trees to grow
away from the pull of gravity.
The urge to be first is not easily satisfied,
nor the undiscovered country easily found.
The ground has been touched by feet,
covered by them for millennia;
even the sky grows tired
with our constant comings and goings.
But look up – up –
above the uttermost mountains
and beyond the last gasp of atmosphere.
Here the frontier is not final