The agoraphobic astronaut wasn’t any fun,
He stayed inside the capsule,
Without a word to anyone,
The agoraphobic astronaut kept looking at the floor,
Diverted his eyes away,
From the view outside the door,
All of space surrounded, in wonder they did stare,
Not the agoraphobic astronaut,
For outside, he could not bare.
He spent his time in space, wishing he was home,
He missed out on the space walk,
Into God’s celestial home.
Those left on Earth were angry, they couldn’t understand
It’s unfair! They would cry
And protests, they were planned.
But in the end he made it, landing back to Earth,
Where everyone ignored him,
With their sounds of endless mirth.
He went back home that night, locked in the house he bought,
That was the last anyone saw,
Of the agoraphobic astronaut.
*This poem is dedicated to Neil Armstrong. He knows why.
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2 comments:
Good Old Neil!
i can make a better poem than that in like 5 seconds!
I am Neil Armstrong and I'm a spaceman,
You're not going to the moon and I am.
I know you want to be there, with all the amazing view,
But you're not going anywhere until I say you do.
I've seen you eye my spacesuit and yes; it's pretty flash,
You'd like to buy one I know, but you don't have the cash.
What did you do back in the 60s, are you doing anything worthwhile soon?
Back in the 60s, I singlehandly designed, built and flew the first rocketship to the moon!
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