Love, Poetry

The Astronaut


It all laid right upon him

dappled blanket smothering

right over him

with just a lone streak of

pink and green or

was it violet and turquoise green;

I would fly

nearer to the stars 

to the nebulas

and even Andromeda 

if I could

if only I could;

The distance never felt any closer

with the steps he took

years he shed

and dozens of oxygen tanks he had;

The streak of hues always seemed

a galaxy or two afar

yet his heart never once

pumped futile or despondent;

Pushing another step forth

his irises fading into the violet lambency

the only streak of tint the astronaut could see;

and coincidentally

it was the last colour

she told him.

Photo by Thom Schneider on Unsplash