The moon high above,
the skin, pock-marked
and dried out. Swirling, it
gravitates around a planet
of death and destruction.
Footprints of a species
soon to be extinct linger
still on its rocky body.
Voices lost in the vacuum of
space, words rendered
meaningless in the end.
I am experimenting with a few ideas in this poem which should be considered a work in progress. I may try to chisel this poem into something more coherent in the next few poems I post this week.
Thank you for reading my work! I hope you return in the future!
-Alina