deepundergroundpoetry.com
Planet Earth, Still Blue, Forgotten You
(Inspired by the Song "Space Oddity" by David Bowie)
Though I keep trying, I still wonder if you can hear me Major Tom
For surely your oxygen must have exhausted decades earlier
Leaving you giddy and drowsy, foolishly laughing all alone
Before apoxia took its lethal toll over forty three years ago
Sadly, we did not fare all that much better here back on Planet Earth
Greed continued to win the day, genocide swept across the globe, and the ice caps continued to melt
Long ago we grew bored and tired of you and other such real heros
Instead now addicted to Facebook, video games, and reality TV
Tweeting and texting as our beautiful language languished and finally died
Now only studied by aging archeologists, romantic English Lit majors and rebel underground poets off the grid but ironically still on the internet
Maybe it's better that you died so soon after making the grade
When all of us still were obssessed with your fashion choices
I often wonder how it would be if you returned today, triumphantly to the sound of crickets
No one remembering who you were and what you achieved
That is except for me, you see I was eight when you lifted off
Though no astronaut, I am now a tired and crusty old colonel myself
Would you step again through the door, look around
Then sadly shake your head and again vault into the cold emptiness of space, so wishing you had never returned
Though I keep trying, I still wonder if you can hear me Major Tom
For surely your oxygen must have exhausted decades earlier
Leaving you giddy and drowsy, foolishly laughing all alone
Before apoxia took its lethal toll over forty three years ago
Sadly, we did not fare all that much better here back on Planet Earth
Greed continued to win the day, genocide swept across the globe, and the ice caps continued to melt
Long ago we grew bored and tired of you and other such real heros
Instead now addicted to Facebook, video games, and reality TV
Tweeting and texting as our beautiful language languished and finally died
Now only studied by aging archeologists, romantic English Lit majors and rebel underground poets off the grid but ironically still on the internet
Maybe it's better that you died so soon after making the grade
When all of us still were obssessed with your fashion choices
I often wonder how it would be if you returned today, triumphantly to the sound of crickets
No one remembering who you were and what you achieved
That is except for me, you see I was eight when you lifted off
Though no astronaut, I am now a tired and crusty old colonel myself
Would you step again through the door, look around
Then sadly shake your head and again vault into the cold emptiness of space, so wishing you had never returned
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