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Joel K Jul 17
It was not man’s dream
to walk the Earth, or gander at the spectacles in the sky—looking at shooting stars different in color and size that appeared white to our naked eyes.

The dream of an astronaut is that of a child.
Because children don't let go of their ambitions.

Always seeing all the colors of the moon lit stars, which is regular to them.

A telescope and a room filled with geniuses is the comparison here.
It was never ironic for the world's prodigies to consider taking a path in space exploration.

Willing to make a name for themselves, they would want to be as big as the sun.
With little to no care of what risk it might pose.

——————————
The Day Of Launch:

“Apollo 11 was the first successful crewed mission to land humans on the Moon. Launched on July 16, 1969, the mission culminated in Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin becoming the first humans to walk on the lunar surface on July 20, 1969, fulfilling President Kennedy's 1961 goal.“

You looked at the magazines stapled together.

Today you walk grown ready to engage with bodies outside of your world.

The ship is titled upward and the rocket propelled directly up, the countdown is only brief—because of time.

Today or Tomorrow you have left Earth behind.



Distortion in Space, a place where everything is lost.

A time when a grown man wishes it was a dream—because of the foolishness of this world’s product…children.
- The excerpt from the magazine cited from Wikipedia.
(— e.g. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Apollo_11)

This poem is about Space Exploration and the stages of a person dreams from Child to Adult.
It reveals the innocence a children have compared to adults.
Where in the world?!
What in the world?!

- Poseidon

How in the world?!
𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝?!
Why in the world?!

-Zeus

Wanna test it?!
Can we ¹perfect it?!

-Hades
1 - Perfect has many definitions and bares many different meanings, given the context.
Come and weep,
Silently, tears will guide you to sleep,
As your lover comes to know,
The grave of water's undertow.
Another claimed,
In the name of explorer's fame,
A name, that once you pass on,
Will be all but gone.
Not a soul has ever carried it as close,
As you have for so long.

Don't be foolish,
Staring at the sea,
He is truly gone,

Even when the fleet comes rolling in,
You won't have that kiss at dawn,
He promised you as he left.
So hang your lonesome head,
The worst is yet to come,
Fill his grave with sea things,
It's all that's left of him anymore.
Your life together,
Now ancient lore,
Lock it up,
Before you wake up.
The black-sea boneyard
Ali Hassan May 16
I stretch beyond what eyes can see,
A boundless realm of sand and sea.
So vast, so still yet never bare,
A silence breathing everywhere.

I shimmer calm beneath the sky,
But hold a thousand storms nearby.
At times I whisper, soft and slow,
At times I rise, and roar, and throw.

I don't ask to be explored,
Nor beg the brave to seek my core.
I simply am too wide to bind,
Too deep for most to even mind.

They stand in awe along the shore,
And claim they've seen what I restore.
But all they see is surface blue,
A surface hiding what is true.

Some dip their toes, then flee the chill,
Some surf my waves, chasing the thrill.
They ride the rhythm, skim my face,
Yet never touch my shadowed place.

And then the divers come with pride,
With lungs like iron, eyes stretched wide.
They plunge with lights and fragile charts,
To chase the secrets in my heart.

They dive so deep their spirits strain,
Convinced they've touched my farthest vein.
But still I stretch, unknown, profound,
No end in sight, no solid ground.

And slowly, spent, they rise and drift,
Their courage dims, their will grows weak.
They whisper soft, “Too vast to keep,”
Then fade away, in silence deep.

Yet I remain the silent sea,
Not empty, but too deep to see.
A depth not meant for every soul,
A truth too wild to grasp in whole.
Ellie Hoovs May 9
I was born
with questions in my mouth.
Why do wolves howl?
What do bees dream?
Will I ever be held
the way that the ocean's depths
hold secrets?
*
I pressed my hands
into the cool dirt of every mystery,
removed them to find earth under my nails,
ink on my palms,
and a smile I still cannot explain.

They tried to tell me:
not everything needs to be known.
But how could I keep from exploring
when every whisper of the wind,
every caw of the crows,
every daisy's petal,
tells me there is more.

They tried to tell me:
Pandora's jar is just Eden's apple
wearing a new name -
blooming only sorrow,
but can we really know the light
without the dark?

Hope was the last thing breathing.
She was caught in the looking glass,
unable to speak,
and I thought her reflection
looked an awful lot
like me.
Heidi Franke Mar 16
I walked into
An old building
Vacant yet
Lived in

I opened
Door after door
Peering into
New air

I realized
I was searching
For what was
To be

There were
No windows
On the doors
For a reason

I could not peer
Into the future
The past
Was futile

There was
No knowing
Left only to patterns
Or engagement

I could stop
Walking
The corridors
Of this wood abode

One more door
To go
What was next
Solitude or sorrows

As I stood alone
I met the room
With nothing to lose
No compass for death
Live your dreams. Don't be discouraged.
MetaVerse Mar 16
There once was a martian from Mars
Named Alfț'drônþopo'gorgg'glìån'nars:
     He constructed a spaceship
     And went on a spacetrip
To the farthest, most alien stars.
Ker Mar 11
My emotions, vast and untamed, are nothing but a restless cry in a world sworn to silence. And my mouth, an irreversible threshold, where every word spills like a spell, unraveling the wound of a truth that was never meant to be spoken.

If this is life and its relentless rhythm, why should I plead for it to dwell within me? I lack the strength to bear its weight and the resolve to withstand its judgment.

There is no refuge from the weight of what I am, nor a silence deep enough to swallow my own echo.
Zywa Feb 23
The talking falters,

that's why I burn poplar wood --


that always crackles.
Novel "Onder de korenmaat" ("Under the bushel", 1991, Maarten 't Hart), chapter 4

Collection "The Note Tree"
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