Fly me to the moon

Into the shuttle, with a clink and clank.
Climbed old Richard, the adventurous Yank.
He counted down, from ten to zero.
Puffed out his chest, as America’s new hero.
And he soared into the sky, with his hands in his pockets.
As he shot to the moon on the back of a rocket.
And the earth dripped away under the clouds and his feet.
He smiled at his fortune that was ever so sweet.
Yet alone on this flight, bound for the lunar oasis.
As his body hung on earth in a medical stasis.
In the nursing home called Cherry palm, Richard resided.
At 92, was the best place his children decided;
For him to live out his days in comfort and care.
Little knowing each day was full of lonely despair.
And that is why, though medicated it’s noted.
He navigated the world, and now space where he floated.
And he went where he wanted, on his own in his head.
He had travelled to the moon without leaving his bed.

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Echoes in space

Don’t leave me here with that all over me.
Spinning into cotton spider webs. The dusty Milky Way.
I tried to give you everything, and now I feel diminished.
I don’t know why you’re so cruel to me.
My gold is just as good as anyone’s.
24 carat.
Invisible floating carrots from your Midas touching.
Yet only I see in the blackness it seems.
Left in the dark again. Left out in the coldness of space.
Tired of this fuzzy dream. I’m not those pretty people.
Where do you think this will end?
It seems you’ve travelled light years to escape my questioning, my reasoning and our solar symmetry.
The scrap feasting and bone munching you force me.
All must end.
Spinning my own planet on my fingers tips, as I wave your shuttle goodbye.
No more echoes in space. No screams for which no-one will hear.