Searched

I stared into a grey morbid sky,
fixated on stars and nebulae
cosmic artwork on a pitch canvas.
There was a darkness devouring it, engulfing creations.

Few bright supernovae penetrated this death, like eyes of a mollusc smothered in filthy dark oil from a wrecked tanker. I am a wrecked thinker.

Space exploration gave hope, light, destination. I have travelled through space, and where are the miracles I promised myself, the cure for hunger? Hunger is dead.
I am dead, covered in a cold, damp blanket of starless night.
The stars are dead. The eyes have closed, too tired to carry on, not motivated to continue.

O, wrecked thinker, if I could change the course I planned
if I could have kept you on the shore and taken you to a castle
perhaps you would have lived.

But you drowned. Your lungs filled up like water balloons on a torrid summer's day, but there was no sun, just liquid night.
The oxygen was drained from your body, from your brain
and the stars in your grey morbid existence extinguished without it, leaving the dark shell of a body once you.

You drowned in yourself
You drowned in waters barely treaded
You put out the stars of your everything, your body drenched in oil

Sailed on the sea of exploration
Returned in a black coffin.