Aboard the Icarus 9,
there are no lights, no sounds outside.
The vacuousness tugs my nerve endings.
The absence of my true love, the Sun,
has left me depressed in a vessel
with no destination but forward.
I've laid here 17 years longer than expected.
My expectancy expired according to the dials,
but still I rage on, paralyzed in time.
I miss any voice, any face.
The glory of the spheres
bores me to tears as I sit
and wait for an intergalactic angel
to crack my shell and turn me loose
among his brothers.
Still I wait, still I lay.
Buttons and dials and meters galore.
What was I thinking?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem