A spill of light trickles down through canopies of clouds,
searching beams circle along sweeping shores,
directed by the masters of heights long-forgotten
by those who remained, abandoned, their feet in the sands
of this unnamed world, left to rot in favour of distant suns
promising a better future, a tomorrow of shining toys
and neon symbols, painting clinical wisdom on tablets,
not of stone, but machines of light and process and code.
Ethereal airships cast their searchlights on frothing waters,
glistening sand-belts, vistas of wilderness grown to abundance,
a shower of rainbow flora festooned upon meadows in swathes,
now remembered in regret as the masters of skies, and stars,
and science, ask themselves: why did they leave here?
What promise could ever outshine such wondrous simplicity
as this world, whose name, replaced by cold coordinates,
was lost to the knowledge of a flesh-encased yesterday?
It was a time before humans touched forbidden places,
reached and tasted the heavens, learned and changed,
evolved into that which they once had revered in awe.
Their journey has come full circle, back to this untamed home
to find those they left behind so many millennia ago.
They arrive with apologies on their lips, in their lights
interpreted by those below, so far beneath the deep divide,
as nothing more, nor less, than the gods themselves.
© 2015 Scott Kaelen
Featured in DeadVerse: Poetry Volume One