When the Earth no more I will see, my heart will be deathly dark, colourless seasons with the red hued atmosphere covering everything,
The light that came from the new days morn will no longer be there to share,
Instead, a cold a foreboding dawn will be mine forever more.
The bright flowers, deepest greens and bluest ocean blues, would be the thing that I would miss on my mission to Mars and not back.
When the Earth no more that I will feel, the ache of the touch of familiar, will haunt my dreams and every waking hour.
To be inside a dome everyday and not feel the wind on my face, would be a like closeting a wild bear in a windowless den forever.
To know I would never again see loved ones I adore, or take their hands between mine or kiss their cheek, would be a thing that I would miss on my mission to Mars and not back.
When the Earth no more that I will smell, surrounded by glass and steel, with piped artificial air, and chemical based smells, would do my head in no end.
No gently rainy shower, or the smell of mown grass in the field.
No smell of of crisp, dry sheets right of the washing line.
Even the seaside scent of ocean and sand, with the faint, sweet smell of melting icecream on hands.
Or that unknown smell that brings back a memory so vivid it knocks you off your feet, would be a thing that I would miss on my mission to Mars and not back.
When the Earth no more that I will hear, instead clang, or creak or groan.
The silence in the desert or on my childhood farm. Surrounding you with it’s nothingness, embracing your every hour.
Or the sound of a Kookaburra waking me in the morning or the crash of thunder and lightning right above my head.
Or the sound of rain drops falling on the tin roof while I lie in bed, would be a thing that I would miss on my mission to Mars and not back.
When the Earth no more I will taste, with my new artificial packet food.
The sweet, crunch of a new season apple, or the sip of a Moscato wine.
The roast lamb with yorkshire pudding or my mum’s chopsuey and rice.
A peanut fresh from roasting, or the honey fresh from the hive.
Only freshly brewed coffee that I could take (or no mission to Mars for me) would be the only escape from the life sentence on my mission to mars and not back.
I’m going to go and hug someone now!