The Awakening

I would rather the fire storms of atmospheres

Than this cruel descent from a thousand years

of dreams, into the starkness of the capsule.

Where two of our crew still lay suspended cool

in their tombs of sleep.

Those nagging choirs of memory

the tubes and wires

worming from their flesh to machinery

I would have to cut

Such midwifery is but one function of the leader here

Floating in a sac of fluid dark

A clear century of space

Away from Earth

While one man stares from the trauma of his birth

Attending to the hypno-tapes

Assuring him

that this was reality

however grim

Our journey's end

Landing itself was nothing

We touched upon a shelf of rock

selected by the automind

And left a galaxy of dreams behind...