Survivals Poem by Oleg Vorobyov

/A visionary glimpse/

As sun goes out,
Leaving cold
Our dear globular abode
(Such fate awaits all sequence stars)
Will dynamite us and explode
Consuming earth by flame, no doubt.
An imminent death's inflicted scars
Will make our minds with fright enthralled!

And it will happen:
Billion years
Would fly like leaflets in the wind
As Doomsday will be ticking last, -
All what has been foretold by seers!
And every man will feel discrepant,
Lamenting life and all his dears
With sun on us nearly collapsed!

What wondrous ship
To flee Tanatos
Would be like dart shot in the void!
Aboard will be a triplex clan
To save the race fleeing the geoid
To navigate in raven deep.
Would it be an effective plan?
Would be "in-flight" our human status?

Yea. Though we can't
Envision future.
There is a picture, make-believe:
The human exodus on move
To run for life from Bursting Butcher,
Our seeds in novel home plant
And settle peacefully, forsooth,
To heave our breasts in blest relief.

What would be like
The promised earth
Is to the taste of grand-grand sons
Who would be treading the new body,
Who would be basking in new suns
And covet fabulous Klondike,
And on fat milk and honey toady!

And what of memories of earth?
Would those recall
The sumptuous lap of brown soil,
The heavenly blue, the fragrant green?
Or would they find another solace?
Nay! Can you slip the quiet stream?
Can you forget the murmuring grove?
Can you give up your human soul?