To see them lay their bodies down is
chilling, this silicon view-switch
trilling alarm bell melodies, bidding
to search now as then, plotting
points and examining
trajectories,
mission lines askew.
Coma sleepers once piloted,
empty controls wreak of
fear, sleep, and lackluster
following cargo-people
into the cold.
Ghost the lines this ship
meand'ring from Saturn,
meekly beeping routines
lack, laser-eyes comprehend,
can do little to move this rocket.
Author notes
Style of this was inspired by my current obsession wit Bitpop and the like. Of course, there's more here than just a star-ride.
Comments
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Hi there. Back to commenting. I always feel as if I should hold my judgement on your poetry because my thoughts will either make perfect sense with yours or I could be entirely wrong on your point. Half the time I think I'm right for me but wrong for you because these thoughts are right for everyone in some way. This poem is along those lines. Different words, same style, comprehention individual to the reader. I would say that in some ways that is a great success because you always speak to the individual while getting your point accross. In others it sucks because I never have any idea what is in it for you unless I'm aware of every nuance in your situation. Always a pleasure to read,
Kip
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