Heaven Opens… Stranded in Alpha Centauri: Apollo Rides

Three suns blaze—gold, fading orange,

a quiet red flicker hums beyond.

I wait—patience stretched like molten wire—

skin sticky, lips parched, heart drumming loud,

thirst curling like smoke around my ribs.

Time drips slow between violet clouds,

across jagged crystal plains

and oceans of unseen color.

I send my signal—silent, urgent, trembling—

a whisper across light-years,

a mayday carried in longing.

The ground quivers beneath bare feet,

the wind tasting of alien iron and heat,

while indifferent stars keep vigil above.

I am a traveler, lost—but waiting, watching, burning,

each heartbeat a flare in the endless dark.

And then—

a shimmer, a pulse, a stir in the void:

a figure rides unseen currents,

wings of light, a horse of fire,

swooping through the dark expanse,

eyes fixed, relentless,

answering the signal I didn’t know I could send.

Patience bends, patience breaks, patience transforms—

the heat becomes a forge, the waiting a bridge.

Alpha Centauri stretches behind, around, beyond,

but salvation leans close,

and I am not stranded anymore—

the stars themselves whisper it home.

POP5