We know it is our fate to wait
Interminably here above.
Our weightless state we do not hate,
Long idleness we do not love.
Experiments we run on high
May help improve some lives below,
But when we aim beyond the sky
Those payoffs aren’t our spur to go.
Adventure is the truth we seek.
Impulsive, lonely, we delight
In urges primal, pure, antique.
Our souls ignite when we take flight.
We calibrate our lofty berth,
Surrender to our time in space
And ponder why our native Earth
Now seems a distant, foreign place.
Chris O'Carroll
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Chris O'Carroll would like to hear them
