A small blue dot, suspended by thread,

Once alive, now seemingly dead.

A planet blue and green that seemed

Like it once—just once—had teemed

With life:

Bounding, flying, swimming,

Joyously living, just beginning,

But ever and ever this life

Was founded on strife:

Balanced, precarious, the edge of a knife,

It would only take one little push—

O little blue Earth,

So precious and old,

Where once in the past,

My parents were told,

Our ancestors lived

Alongside that life,

Cautiously balanced on top of the knife,

Endlessly trying to silence all strife.

But human existence seemed just a blip

After they made their way out on a ship.

Now I can only see that blue dot—

A memory, fading, of what is not,

But was, but used to be,

The only remains of which is me.

Me who can do nothing to stop

The inevitable tumble from on top

of the knife.

All I can do is look at the stars,

Look at the Earth from my home on Mars

The sky full of stars seems dead and cold;

A place so magical now hurts to behold.