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.
Station Ceres hung in orbit, a silver thread of light,
With a crew of six who lived and worked in the endless, humming night.
Then the radio went silent, and the corridor lights went low,
And the airlock stood wide open to the vacuum's endless snow.
The cameras showed six spacesuits standing rigid in a row,
With their visors turned toward the wall and their gloves held out below.
The rescue crew arrived and found the suits were empty, hollow shells,
And a message on the console, in a script no human spells.
It said, we found the thing outside, it asked to come within,
And we opened up the hatch and let the stranger in.
Now the station drifts in silence, and its lights still softly blink,
And the rescue ship still hears it, in the walls, a tap, a clink.
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Commentary
Deep-space horror asks what would happen if the silence of space were not empty. On Station Ceres, a crew of six vanishes, and their only trace is an open airlock and a message.
“Station Ceres hung in orbit, a silver thread of light,” with “a crew of six.” Then “the radio went silent,” and “the airlock stood wide open.” Cameras show “six spacesuits standing rigid in a row” with “their visors turned toward the wall.”
The rescue crew finds “the suits were empty, hollow shells,” and a console message in “a script no human spells.” It says, “we found the thing outside, it asked to come within, and we opened up the hatch and let the stranger in.” The rescue ship still hears “in the walls, a tap, a clink.”