The Lost Message

Snug-bound, we are.

Betwixt glinting,

far, distant stars…

Lonely Earthlings.

Our Rock? It’s hard,

The hard place, here,

we’ve gone too far,

honoring Fear.

Those Glinting Stars,

whispering low,

murmur their dark

wishes, you know.

Their silent din?

The Lost Message.

Void’s Siren-call

is Old Sun’s age.

Never showing

their winding trail.

Panicked lusting:

Our Earthbound Hell.


© CGT, 2017.

Blogging Poetry

Obol View All →

Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.

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