The Wounded

With a little hiss
Like an effervescent pill
Drifting away and away
But still
Clinging to him with invisible strings
She always looked back
To the lands of her dreams.
A consignment of robots
With rubber souls
And seven months pre matures
Tarnished her liquids
And treaded her robes
Of white frosts.
The cunning smiles
With cigars in their hands
Tamed her wilds
Into snares and chains.
The veld fires and acid rains
Reduced her greens
Into blistered orange sheets.
Her very core
Excavated
Only left her with bleeding pores.
In your space suits
With adjusted sails
You are ready to wade
To unknown lands.
But why are you still clinging to her skeletal cores
With umbilical cords?
Moaning and crying over her scars
She, who once, was a particle of a star.