Rogue planets are equal parts fascinating and terrifying.
Imagine a world ejected from its home solar system and forced to wander deep space. Cut off from the light and heat of a parent star forever. What would the final hours feel like for intelligent life dwelling on that planet? How would they deal with the end of their world? If this dead planet crosses into another solar system amid wandering, it suddenly becomes an agent of chaos.
Billions of rogue planets not bound to a star likely exist within the Milky Way Galaxy. Finding one and sending a probe to visit someday would be an incredible adventure.
Today’s poem is inspired by the idea of living on a rogue planet freshly ripped away from its parent star.
Sunlight dips behind mountain peaks. One final time. Moonlight hides like a shy child. Green trees wither into brown. Ocean waves cease their churn. Coats, scarves, boots, and gloves. Failing defenses against time. Sunlight painted a clouded sky. Now running dry. An ancient god ruling a world. Slain on a golden throne. Streaking chariot dragged down. A distant cannon fires. Ripped from the giant's grasp. Sunlight flees from the horizon. Never to return. Where will I go next? How do I get there from here? Will I find my new home? Why do all good things end? When does a new day dawn?
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