Whitby Writers Group

a self-help writers co-operative

Epitaph for an Astronaut

Bury me in the wastes
of interstellar space.
Let some grey nebula be my graveyard;
Some supernova my funeral pyre.

Launch me towards the North Star.
Align me by space-time geodesics.
Borne upon crests of gravity waves
my bones will outdistance the cosmic rays.

Throughout ages of ages
I shall rest in boundless peace;
perpetual light shining upon me;
photons sparkling upon my face.

Or hurl my catafalque down
into a black hole’s quenchless maw;
my likeness, upon its event-horizon,
emblazoned forever in static light.

So shall my elements disperse;
to be reformed in countless galaxies.
I shall return to the stardust
from whence I came.

Or, somewhere in the speckled sky,
find me a speck: the only speck I know.
On a blue planet, frosted with swirling clouds,
find me an island.

There, burn my body and disperse the ashes
into the breeze upon the clifftops;
and as I drift down I’ll become once more
part of my planet.

Ian Clark, December 2017.

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