The Beacon Does Not Know

Rescue channel seven, do you read? The sky is ash, the towers bleed. We watched the last ship clear the flame. It never turned. It never came. The launch gates failed, the roads were sealed, Blue fire rolled across the fields. We hid below the broken stone, A thousand voices, now alone. We mark the days on rusted walls, We wake for every burst and call. The speaker hisses, then goes flat, Still every night, we answer back. Our hands are cold, our signal weak, But someone has to stay and speak. This is Colony Nine, still alive, Thirty souls from sixty-five. No stars above, no dawn in sight, Just one red beacon in the night. Rescue, rescue, hear us through - We kept the channel lit for you. Hope went quiet long ago, But the beacon does not know. The last cans taste of dust and tin, The poisoned wind keeps pressing in. A child still asks what Earth looks like; I draw blue seas by lantern light. We buried names beside the door, Then stopped when we had room no more. We call dead channels one by one, And hear our own words when they’re done. The power fades, the cables burn, Still toward the stars, the dishes turn. This is Colony Nine, still alive, Twelve of us from sixty-five. No stars above, no dawn in sight, Just one red beacon in the night. Rescue, rescue, hear us through - We kept the channel lit for you. Hope went quiet long ago, But the beacon does not know. I set the loop before I sleep: “Survivors here. The signal keeps. Trace this pulse through ash and snow. Tell the fleet we could not go.” It will cross this field of glass Long after every breath has passed. Maybe no one hears it through - Still it calls the dark for you. This was Colony Nine, once alive, Twelve at dusk, then only five. No stars above, no morning glow, Just one red beacon down below. Rescue, rescue - hear it through: No living hand is calling you. Hope went quiet years ago, But the beacon does not know. Rescue channel seven, do you read? The beacon calls. The beacon bleeds.