Wasted horizon

Maybe it isn’t billionaires and their pet actors that should go into space.
Any sense of wonder is apparently wasted on their jaded sense of entitlement.

If you were not already moved
    by that most extraordinary beauty to evolve out of the vast universe
    —life and love itself—
moved enough to preserve it with honest toil,
is it any wonder that your own loneliness is all you see amid the black?

What salve is there in a horizon
    so vast that it can only be traversed by many generations
for a life that is solely absorbed with the well being of its own solitary confines?

What does ordinary rot understand of the flowers in its garden,
if it happened to perceive a sky above?

Melih Sener