By S. E. Johnson
The sky is strange above my head,
The soil is foreign to my touch,
I gaze across a million light years,
I miss the smell of earth so much.
Marooned upon this forsaken mote;
I've come to know myself, a man,
Where I am not so brave or proud,
But pass my days as best I can.
I shall pass my days alone in madness,
And none shall ever come to know.
I write it on these pages passing time,
Then cast my eyes in hope to see a glow.
Some starship come to take me home,
There to kiss the old and gentle earth.
To smell the air and smog again.
To lay to rest in the world of my birth.
I am the ghost of this empty orb;
Not home but sojourning for awhile,
Then I think of all my ambitious folly
And with that thought I lose a smile.