Red

It’s red. It’s doomed. Doomed not here. Doomed there. Red not there. Red here.

And barren and vast, a peace that provokes. There, mountains and valleys and rivers that flow. It’s fear and fun. It’s bright and glum.

In moments of decades, seasons came halt. It’s winter forever, in summer’s facade. I don’t want to go to Mars. I don’t want to go to Mars. I don’t want to go to Mars. I don’t want to go to Mars. I don’t want to go to Mars. I don’t want to go to Mars. I don’t want to go to Mars. Robbed of their words before they could speak. They cried and wailed, “We don’t want to leave.” Stroller to spaceship, one foot in between, did touch the ground, met dew not so sweet, with a taste of metallic, like drills and machines.

Red not there, red over here.