Memento of another space

 

Still silence. A crash,

the moment of impact, a fragile vessel.

Shockwaves carve apart the sky,

before the blast rang out. A fallen star.

A new start. A story born of fire and ash.

Cast to a new home, in a ship of glass.

 

A smash,

as mementos of another

time and space

became tender fragments

of rain on a winter day.

Fire and brimstone to soft skin.

A child alone. Unsure.

Unsteady. A newborn deer

in an earthquake zone.

Stares at the moon.

Uncertainty in how to move.

How to fit into this skin suit.

No instruction manual on being a human.

 

A cry to the skies, primal roar rides high,

for home lies on distant solar tides.

 

The cycle of seasons saunters by,

the moon visits then leaves every sky.

The child cries at every loss,

never grasping that each loss

is temporary, and the wailing

won't stem the rain.

Those monumental stories

lodged in his brain,

a world away from perfect.

No map to this pain.

 

So alone. So alone. So alone.

 

Endless summers into wild winters,

ferocious thoughts from vicious voices.

He simpers. Wilting, a flower in the chill wind.

So far from perfect, he thinks.

 

He thinks he thinks he...

 

And into wavy dreams he swims,

for a brief glimpse at where from whence

his memories seep in - a place

so distant, far beyond the stars,

with crystal skies and flying cars.

 

Back to reality, as a screeching

voice yells at him. These people seem

so certain in their skin, yet don't

see the magic within.

Yet I fall and I bruise, I scream

at the abuse, but hold back oceans

for them.

But the world just screams louder...

Deafening.

 

It's no use. I'm not like you.

 

And avalanching time crashes

mountains into ice castles. Crushes hope

into glass, fragile and weakened

by the thin skin of time.

Life a series of battles, bottled up

and stored in a cupboard.

Drinks them down in cascading sighs

like the tears that fall from his eyes.

Wondering why?

Where was his peaceful sky?

 

Visions of alien expanse, rose-red

fields lit by twin stars, vapour trail

comets dance between them.

But now he just scrawls sonnets

in a notepad always kept in his pocket.

 

Trying to understand humanity,

a line at a time, the beautiful and

ugly combined, to no longer be confined

to his prison mind, or feel the need

for a space rocket, to escape this

angry rock and its vicious wildlife.