The Outer-Proxima For Your Final Sentences From Long Ago On (A Wing And A Prayer)
If I pledged to speak to you, en oration finale which reached
In time it would take my message to rebound back from the nearest star,
I’d journey waiting for your correspondence in the shushed obsession of static murmurs
Pointing my wings for you, navigating toward the vicinity of your voice
embarking on a tranquil head start, sailing for an Orion divergence
Toward whatever turbulent, pulsating, Centuri star is at the conclusion
I would fly straight into its flames charting a celestial direction
where death would not mute out the communion of those consecrated in oblivion
be it even the rendezvous of speech in vain once I caught up to your voice
which was gasping in just a few fatal breathes then soundless and cold
was the diminutive comfort on the blank map of emptiness, a necessity in the barren
what would be the point to turn back toward home
perching myself on the shoulders of this bountiful legacy
Frozen and separated with the comfort of this message to carry me on forever-
‘Take heart, fear not, for we are.’