ramblings and things

1,226,015 poems read


My name is Edward Abrams


I am alone and lost in space


Although I have a destination,


A definite arrival place


And I know inexorably


This ship travels on


Aiming for a rendezvous


With a still distant alien sun.


 


This is The Ark of Hope


Carrying, comatose,


The seeds of rebirth in 


Survival pods laid in rows.


I check and care for them,


Monitor each one each day,


Cameras check all systems


Constantly where they lay.


 


I am the unit Edward Abrams


That disembodied brain


Guiding my Arc of Hope,


Maybe all that remains


Of that Blue Third Planet


Left coping with the range


Of emergencies and disasters


Brought about by climate change.


 


The volcanoes were erupting


As our journey proper started:


The ashen atmosphere cloaked 


The view as we finally departed.


Maybe just maybe 


We are the very last:


Pray we have a future to learn


From our destructive past.


 


I have checked my precious cargo


Checked the stores and their load


Now this unit Edward Abrams


Is switching into standby mode.


All systems are green.


Auto monitors are on.


Until the next scheduled check


This unit's conscious mode is gone.


 



Comment On This Poem --- Vote for this poem
Edward Abrams