I rise, a latter-day Phoenix, trailing
thunder and acetylene flame
in my wake, aimed at the broad acres
of Heaven. Star traveller, space nomad,
technology’s bright archangel,
I will fly into God’s blinding eye,
the blue eye of genesis.
The thin rind of atmosphere, biology’s
comfort zone, blazes with the sun’s
lancing light and ahead lies
the star-strewn expanse of eternity.
My soul screams in terror and ecstasy,
but I know that no matter how deeply
I probe the nest of galaxies,
the umbilical cord will not be severed –
behind me, the blue flame of Earth
still burns brightly.
Bill Fitzsimons
Great work Bill. Love phrases like ‘technology’s bright archangel’ and ‘thin rind of atmosphere’ which create powerful images. Your poem successfully evokes the adrenalin rush of a star traveller.
Thank you, Cate. I’m pleased you like it.
Best wishes,
Bill