The personal room type 2.

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The personal room type 1.

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The room is dark, well, a few flickers from some old neon lights. Deep blue they be.

On one wall is a paleolithic drawing of a deer.

A small puddle of water nearby. The deer looks so thirsty.

A flint knife in one small side room.

( a bit of the human past, buried deep down inside the ship.)

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etched on a wall, deep on Deck 550, on the center tube of the ship is a poem.

mostly low-key

[ I wrote it. All Rights Reserved. ]

Here I sit,
at a computer keyboard,
typing away.

Sitting and thinking,
as soft low-key music,
plays in the background.

I’m over a half-century old,
I’ve seen the end of Segregation,
the early part of television,
the journeys into outer space,
the landings on the Earth’s Moon.

Four small satellites journey on and outward,
Voyager 1 and 2,
Pioneer 10 and 11.

Small distant machines,
transmitting small radio signals,
out into the nothingness.

But I sit here,
at my computer,
typing away.

In my mind’s eye,
I dream a dream of change,
and hope.

But.

Thats a long pause after the ‘But’ there.

I see out the corner of my eye,
a bit of neon sign flicker,
as it lights up in the Deep Dark.

Its in the shape of a galaxy.
And a few shooting stars,
nebulae glowing dimly over there.

A large ferris wheel,
maybe its a distant galaxy,
glowing yonder.

Small neon sided cars,
they could be solar systems,
I get aboard one.

it moves gently about the park,
no sparks burst forth from it,
as it glides,
upon a cloud,
of blue neon.

Then I blink,
and its just a computer screen,
once more.

Softly, the low-key music,
plays in the background.

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copyright by me.

[ background music: distant voices on the interstellar radio
voices without words. voices expressing feelings of joy, sadness,
happiness, resolution, danger… and it went something like…]

Sitting up late one night,
years ago it was,
on my first interstellar voyage.

Listening to one of the off channels,
on my cabin radio hookup.

And then I heard them,
distant voices in the night,
singing, no words could I hear,
happiness, joy, sadness,
exultation.

Warning of danger, resoluteness,
then they cut out,
we went into FTL drive.

I didn’t mention those voices.

But I did hear of someone,
who talked about them,
was told he was wrong,
no such channel on the cabin radios.

I tuned in again,
the next night,
the dial didn’t reach that number anymore,
skipped it,
and the ones around it,
oh well.

Later, on my seventh voyage,
I heard them again,
I had read of a warning,
calling them Sirens of The Galaxy.

Odd, I thought,
I hadn’t felt compelled,
to visit them,
just idle curiosity to hear them,
once more.

Soothing they were,
nothing compelling me to listen,
anymore.

I heard them not,
for many a long year,
then I heard them once again,
on a radio band,
outside the typical settings,
they sang a song of happiness,
joy, sadness, battle,
and I heard them,
Nevermore.

Years later,
I received a note,
“Sinbad,” it read,
“those voices are for another,
your voyages have taken another path.”

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