This is not a love poem to a person.
I have left many of them behind, and
none of them have chosen to stowaway
in my heart or mind or otherwise to be remembered.

This is not a love poem to the home
I left behind, with its noise of televisions
and radios and all that constant…
This is not a rant.

This isn’t even a letter, for it is not
meant to be sent, or read,
as the recipient would have no eyes.

This is a monologue of a
loner who is not lonely, but perhaps…
nostalgic, of the colours
left behind, in the third planet,
as we belong now to the red.

Inspired by the writing prompt, written having Mars One project in mind.

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