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Worn Voices Muddle

uploaded: Mon, Mar 28, 2011 @ 7:16 AM
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Ears ringing and screaming,
I stand to my feet after falling again,
bewildered by the peace of horror.

“We’re dead in the black, sir,”
the tech fresh on his first run said;
green as grass and fresh as rain,
but he sounds so old and worn now.

My head is heavy and thick,
too many numbers, too many problems;
the suit usually feels like a sack of sand,
but today it is light as a feather,
compared to my worries.

I usually love the sound of escaping air,
the glorious opening of the midnight sky,
but today it is repulsive;
my imagination hears them,
doomed by my bloody hands.

Breathe deep. Focus.
There’s much work to do.

I see nothing streaming away,
no leaks, no dangling debris.
I try to get to the outer panel,
but the moans drag me down to the skin of the ark;
so many; so many lost.

The worn voices muddle me;
I am lost in a swirl of guilty confusion.
The tech’s voice brings me back,
on the verges of tears for me to answer;
I tell him, “I am here.
“I am alive. We are alive!”

He found the main problems,
he is proud to have discovered them,
but terrified by their scope.
But me? I have no fear.
I can fix them,
and they are nothing to my real dread:
resurrection is beyond me.

Breathe deep. Focus.
There’s much work to do.

"Worn Voices Muddle"
by PorchCat

2011 - Licensed under
Creative Commons
Noncommercial Sampling Plus

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