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Description
This is something I wrote a while ago, probably around the end of 2021. It was meant as a direct sequel to this old piece I wrote in 2018:
Man On The MoonThe stars shine ever so brightly
in the dark
and I wonder
if they are looking down on me.
A blue light rises on the horizon
again
and I am reminded of everyone
living their lives
right in front of me
yet out of reach.
I begin to wonder if
a small step for one man
even means anything
if there is no one around
to see it.
Back when I could still hear
the calming voice of ground control
I didn't feel as lonely.
There's only static now
and no one's listening.
No one is coming to help.
No one will rescue me.
No one even cares that I'm still alive.
- I keep telling myself -
but even as the air is getting thin
I can't help but cling to that tiny glimmer of hope -
"Three percent Oxygen remaining."
I take a deep breath.

Apparently I have a tendency to come up with continuations for my poems. Then again, more often than not, these stories write themselves; such is the way of life.

On a related note, I may occasionally post more visual forms of poetry like this one. It's much more interesting to look at than mere text, wouldn't you agree?

Source background image by Pixabay released under Creative Commons (CC0) license:
www.pexels.com/photo/blue-and-…

Description
This is something I wrote a while ago, probably around the end of 2021. It was meant as a direct sequel to this old piece I wrote in 2018:
Man On The MoonThe stars shine ever so brightly
in the dark
and I wonder
if they are looking down on me.
A blue light rises on the horizon
again
and I am reminded of everyone
living their lives
right in front of me
yet out of reach.
I begin to wonder if
a small step for one man
even means anything
if there is no one around
to see it.
Back when I could still hear
the calming voice of ground control
I didn't feel as lonely.
There's only static now
and no one's listening.
No one is coming to help.
No one will rescue me.
No one even cares that I'm still alive.
- I keep telling myself -
but even as the air is getting thin
I can't help but cling to that tiny glimmer of hope -
"Three percent Oxygen remaining."
I take a deep breath.

Apparently I have a tendency to come up with continuations for my poems. Then again, more often than not, these stories write themselves; such is the way of life.

On a related note, I may occasionally post more visual forms of poetry like this one. It's much more interesting to look at than mere text, wouldn't you agree?

Source background image by Pixabay released under Creative Commons (CC0) license:
www.pexels.com/photo/blue-and-…