That's the fifth one.
They're dropping,
dropping,
like dead flies.
Sometimes you don't know they're falling and then it's too late.
I feel like screaming,
Screaming, this is too much.
They keep leaving and not saying goodbye.
Mumbling,
mumbling about going and seeing you soon.
Jumping off Earth, hoping to hit space like the sound barrier.
Well, everything's exploding down here,
things are going off and not staying on.
Tumbling around, where's the stability in this damning gravity zone?
Stop leaving, slow down that space rocket,
Astronaut or not,
You will lose yourself in space,
And then it will be too late, my friend,
Your spaceship will drift away, ripped from communication in the void,
And damn I didn't do anything to change it, until I was only hugging fragments of what should've been you.
You walked off the face of the Earth and waved from the moon.
Now old friend, someday I'll be there too.
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Thank you for 450 reads! The viewing is Thursday. Closed casket.
YOU ARE READING
Tangents
PoetryIt's some kind of literary form. Quote me: k.t. Sometimes explaining something does not give it meaning, but leaves it without purpose.
