Ph: Poetry Writing: Lord, Terraform My Art Poem by Brian Johnston

Who terraforms thoughts I love best,
In vacuumed orbit that man sees,
I'm comet stripped down to the bone
Scant issue to reflect, divest,
That sun might warm or fool call own,
What solar winds want to imbue
Grace (gravity alone decrees)
Is more than what I'm worth or due.

These huddled stones (I think this fair) ,
Are mine alone to offer life,
To claim or bastardize at will
Their clothing I alone prepare,
Their blood is mine to save or spill,
But lend an ear if you will Sir,
Though no man's sure of home or wife,
A rhyme can soothe philosopher.


Brian Johnston
11th of December 2018