Starstruck

I hold
soil, earth from where
Spaceport America
will soon be a reality--
starstruck.

Takeoff,
you grit your teeth
and wait for sedatives
to sink in.  A clear blue sky now
turns black.

Weightless,
discomfort gone.
Above? below?  her soul
and view filled with serenity--
earthstruck.

Our dreams
pull us to the
star-freckled sky.  Our drive...
will it lead to exodus? Or to
explore?

Ω

WC Roberts  WC Roberts's website lives in a mobile home up on Bixby Hill, on land that was once the county dump. The only window looks out on a ragged scarecrow standing in a field of straw and dressed in his own discarded clothes. WC dreams of the desert, of finally getting his first television set, and of ravens. Above all, he writes.

Other works by WC Roberts