Draft in the author’s style. This poem was written for Poet of Chilling Shivers to sit beside the author’s own readings, and is waiting for the author’s review. The commentary is a working draft too.
The telescope was pointed at a planet named Kepler, far,
When the speakers crackled sudden with a pulse from a distant star.
It was a simple pattern, three long beats, then two, then one,
And it repeated through the night till the second shift was done.
We ran it through the software, and the answer made us pale,
It was our own voices speaking, reading names from a distant tale.
The first name was the director's, and the date was that same week,
On Friday, on the stairway, he slipped and could not speak.
The second name was a colleague's, and the third belonged to me,
With a date a year from now and a time of half past three.
I've switched the dish to silence, and I have locked the door,
But the pulse is in my heartbeat, and it beats forevermore.
Poet of Chilling Shivers · Hear it on the channel ↗
Commentary
This poem is science fiction with a shiver. A signal from a distant planet does not carry news of aliens, but the voices of the listeners themselves, reading out a schedule of fates.
The telescope is pointed at “a planet named Kepler” when the speakers catch “a pulse from a distant star.” It is “three long beats, then two, then one,” repeated all night. Decoded, “it was our own voices speaking, reading names from a distant tale.”
The first name is “the director’s,” and “on Friday, on the stairway, he slipped and could not speak.” The third belongs to the speaker, with “a date a year from now and a time of half past three.” The speaker has “switched the dish to silence,” but “the pulse is in my heartbeat.”