Science Fiction

At night I think about science fiction, about ancient astronauts and their landings and comings here.  I think about generation starships and soldier steward robots, holding us, our greatness flimsy like a wish.  I think about them coming back for us.  I think about going with them, looking out of the windows of their ships.  I wish they’d take us, to our new worlds.  We’d go there and leave the mistakes here today.  I work now but I would work for them.  I would watch their pets, even if their pets were us.  I’d melt rocks with their guns and mine their moons with shovels like the sea.

At night I think of death bringing me to god. How I would tell him I didn’t try hard enough and how he would say that it was ok.  With my wings I’d search the stars for them, the hearts of suns where alive I could not hide.  I’d push through the ribbons of the worlds and I’d be as large as Him or as small as one of us.  I’d know the house we all have built, but at night I would still think of them.


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