by oosh
At about twelve thousand miles per hour Trailing the tarnished hopes of all mankind Seven brilliant young scientists Fell from their course among the stars And the world huddled at its screens Shocked at the reminder: No ceramic fuselage Is strong enough to cocoon our dreams.
In darkened wards around the world Too weak to lift their arms Seventy grandmothers received a quiet injection And took their place among the angry stars And exhausted families released a sigh Just our private tragedy Said “Thank God her suffering is over” (And the medical bills)
In one tiny, darkened bedroom Pink by day, by night all grey The silver star mum pasted on the ceiling Has ceased to twinkle. And in granddaughter's wakeful eye A brighter, hotter star is born And hopeless wishes fill her heart Remembering her granny's smile