Stream of Conscious

I wrote this about a year ago.
And so it goes, drifting ever so further from the shores and into the darkening abyss of the ocean as the dusk strikes the silvery rolling tides, shining an unforgivable light back into the sky where the stars stare at the glistening specs of light on the cold surface of the earth, wondering when the end of time will arrive. As the world tilts on its axis and spins in the void which even death cannot exist, lights from all over the universe stare at the insignificant orb floating in the depths of the matter strewn galaxies, wondering how and why life can exist on such a small rock. And yet it continues, drifting further along the current, traveling towards an unknown destination and achieving an empty feat where an infinite number of spectators, living or non-existent, will find a way to praise or ignore the beauty of its existence, but to merely applaud the metaphors and similes drawn from the breathe of a man. Expressing emotions through an incandescent light bulb allows us to show our true colors, but we never know the direction the light will travel or refract. We stare and watch as the world turns on its side, resting in the void man could not recreate. And so it goes.