Migration

This planet, the one we now call home,
About twice the size of planet Earth,
One of twelve within the theorised,
Circumstellar habitable zone,
Like Goldilock’s porridge; not too hot,
Though to my taste, a little too cold.
They called it Kepler-22b,
We call it, Freitous.

Seven-hundred and three thousand men,
Women and children too. Evicted.
Forced migration, auto-selection,
Based on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter…
The Cloud became a terrible storm,
Data, profiles and the names rained down.
New pioneers from populous Earth,
Destination, Space.

On September tenth, twenty-sixteen,
We gathered in pens, herded, processed,
For hours without comfort or choice,
Many refused, went off-grid. Vanished.
At nineteen-twenty, transport came,
Surly, mechanical growls rumbled,
Pitch-black fear, then their lights, bright as suns,
Stun us, compliant.

Colossal leaps in technology,
Some extra-terrestrial know-how,
Got us six-hundred light years in months,
Ship after ship, in stowaway-class,
Peering through distorted glass port-holes,
Sustained by stars and meagre rations,
Glimpsing galaxies, comets, our Earth.
Disembarked; they left.

Copyright Diny FvK


I love the technical aspect of writing to form, so, here’s the info for this one:

Form: 8 lines per stanza, 9 syllables on the first 7 lines, then 5 on the last
Theme: A journey

If you like my poem, please share :)

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