The Empty Skies of Mars

I was born among the rock-strewn, blue-green, rolling hills of Mars.

The strung-out gold and white rare-clouds yet work swiftly across the pale blue emptiness
Of my home-bound, vacuous Martian sky. My empty Martian sky.

I have travelled inward, toward the God-Sun; I have moved on, to the third and
Sparkling planet in our ever-changing sun-system. It is a green and glowing place, this
Third planet, which the ever-warring natives simply call - Earth.
It is with some surprise and a recognition of a certain irony that I ponder
The fact that these otherwise always quarreling Earthlings, can easily
Agree upon the very name for their Armageddon-in-orbit.

I wander amidst the pure-green richness of a yet-alien planet, this beautiful and
Abundant home-in-empty-space, a home these children-natives yet call Earth.
I see the vastness of their unbelievable oceans, their (to me) priceless lakes, their
Fast-flowing, many rivers; I am ever awed by the seemingly endless wealth given
Freely to this third and by-far-the-richest planet in our family sun-system.
(Bitter-sweet, barren Mars - would that I could but transport a tenth of this
Colossal bounty to your impoverished and struggling doorstep, before these cretin-creatures
Throw it all irretrievably to the greedy god-winds of our lonely, most-empty Universe)

I compose a prayer, here on this lush and lovely third planet; a prayer that these
Yet-to develop natives come of age before this third and most-beautiful planet
Comes to be like that fourth and most-impoverished planet - my barren and
Sadly-beautiful, dying home of Mars.
Oh, Mars, you have squandered your best to the red gods of aggression and
Fratricidal warfare. You have cast your limited treasures to the paltry hurricanes
Of that which these Earthlings have well-labeled - blitzkrieg; you will never again
See such a blue and full-green day such as these Earthlings yet accept as a simple
Matter of fact.

You are well named, Mars - your blood-red disposition cannot be hidden even from
The alien eyes that view you from this yet rich and green, third planet.

I mourn my dying home, my Martian childhood. I mourn the sick-symptoms of that
Same Martian disease which I now recognize here on this third planet from our sun.
May these half-child Earthlings find the cure in all time and save this last, green
Refuge in a dark and l only galaxy.

My tears, which were born on the red and rolling deserts of Mars, now enrich this
Alien, but precious green of Earth.

I pray again to the sun-god. . . to spare this, my new-found home,
And to guide it to a future a million light years removed from those
Blanched and empty skies of Mars. . .

My empty Martian skies.
Writ in the year of your Earth
December the 20th, 1975

© Peter Opack 1979


Created by the author of Throwaway People: Danger in Paradise

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