The Observer

The feint red glow
casts shadows on the dome.
He is crouched, alone.
Staring at the screen,
and the space between
his warm face and the ticking computers in this place.

Stars,
alive, sing in the skies.
Distant worlds,
and suns rise over tender alien plants
afraid of things man-made.
Vast nebula of toxic gasses.
Comets in inexorable journey.
The brain of a clockword God,
cool and massive.

He needs nothing more.
The rusting iron hulk
creaks in the night and hot day light.
The dripping filtered water is pure.
There is nobody behind the door.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.