RETURN TO SENDER
A poem about Voyager
A nomad of the deep,
I pass through a quiet world.
Afraid I am not,
for many an age I have lived.
I have been cast out by caring hands,
away, equipped with tools heavy
sailing, searching, seeking,
my systems breathing steady
past the glowing pinpoint suns
girt by orbs of different sizes,
past the hurtling sprays of rock
and the silver spiders that ride them
I bear not one disc, but two:
Diamond beside the gold you'll find,
for those hands that last held me
were of a different kind.
Topped with fuel and bathed in polish
replaced, replenished, refueled,
they studied me, tears in their ancient eyes
as if I were a miracle.
Now, O Earth, I am homeward bound
soaring past familiar embers.
You sent me on a mission once,
I pray you still remember.
©vistronaut, 2019