Racing through the light.

Bewildered and at great speed the message is spread. We are here, we are here… is there anyone there? The question once asked now races throughout the heavens. It stays near the centre as not to be distracted. At each turn it follows the baton hand, so not to miss. It fears the edges, they seem infected. The conveyance of light clearly feels hounded. Impeded from stopping, it knows no end will ever come. For the race has neither winner nor loser… it merely is! How long before the question is heard? How long before the question is answered? Yet on and on the light shall spread… …till the gazing for rumours are answered.