by Nick Gisburne
We found a world, the destiny we planned.
Explorers, like the heroes of the past.
The first to leave our footprints in the sand,
Our foolish dreams will never be surpassed.
Technician, First Reconnaissance. A joke.
A badge without a purpose in this hell.
A dozen friends, still burning, and their smoke
A fraction of the horror of the smell.
The first among the first, but I survive,
The one they need, to whisper to the rest.
Controlling me, each painful piece, they drive
Their servant, luring others to the nest.
A thousand vessels, twenty million lives,
Enough to feed, for years, these hungry hives.
