The Voyager's Song

 

I see the shoreline,

black and unremarked

sleeping in secret, supine,

an open door, strong

as a broad Yorkshire

voice,

weak as rags of sea mist.

 

Soon I shall fetch upon its sands,

where cold silence reigns

uninvited like the early dawn.

 

Beside me shall burn,

in isolation and awe,

the last bright flower

of an ancient memory;

a radiant nebula crafted

from hot-house orchids:

fragile straws

from which to form

new life beyond, far

from this gritty sojourn.

 

Sailing homeward,

the Voyager ends his song.

 

Chris Hubbard

Perth. 2018