Back of the Envelope

I mentioned a while ago that I was writing poetry for an out-of-genre writing assignment. A lot of what I wrote was pretty bad, but here's one that wasn't quite as dreadful as the others. It's a sci-fi poem, as it seems I can only go so far out of my usual genre.

Beyond the Stars

Do we stare into the ceaseless black
With the echoing silence in our ears?
Should we stretch to fill our lack,
Driven by the ambition of the years?

Across the blackness of its face
We seek a glimmering light.
But find nothing but empty space,
Nothing to ease our needless fright.

Though we have come so far
Our search has come to naught,
When every new discovered star
Reveals nothing we have not brought.

We gave up God so long ago,
And turned to the Universe.
Not wanting in death life’s truths to know,
We grasped at space to find answers.

Eternal life we dared to claim
Hoping that time this void would fill.
Instead we found more of the same
No joy, no peace, just empty will.

Fear now clutches clockwork hearts.
Iron breath mists in deadening cold.
Some say that divesting our mortal parts
Will bring the freedom of the bold.

But I—I think that I shall sleep,
And in that sleep there may be dreams.
And though I won’t survive that leap
Perhaps death is more than it seems.