by Steven E McDonald
The old ship drifts in silence,
hull riddled with meteor holes.
hung amidst the hiss of hydrogen.
Oh, we carted our dreams amidst the
We, as children, imagined ourselves
such great ships as once this was.
In those times before love we had
of adventures in the emptiness, our
blazing, our muscles straining, war.
Once, this thing was a powerful
that shredded space and time,
its way from port to bustling port.
Its captain, perhaps, was a hard
with a taste for the exotic, who
strange women, slavegirls, worlds.
Out here in the hydrogen-murmuring
the hulk floats, its Captain long
his dreams long faded, entropic.
Oh, and once, we too had our dreams,
and innocent, now barely recalled,
considered, for what we have outgrown.
© 2004, 2007 Steven E. McDonald
Steven E. McDonald, poet, novelist, screenwriter,
madman. Latest novel: WAYSTATION from Tor, currently in preproduction
for a poetry CD for the Slightly Off: Open Field Forum group.
Read more by Steven
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