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Ottar Feb 2015
as far as frontiers go, there is the mind, the oceans and
there is space,
as far as points on a compass, there are four, then eight
and there are sixteen,

Of three hundred and sixty.  On Earth.

Take your compass to the ocean deep,
leave it there and let the pressure creep
inside for if the needle points right
it will be a miracle, a crushing miracle.

Antares.  The first time heard I this name
it was on the self-same Star Trek.  Logic
escapes me right now, for logic escaped
us all, when he left.

Antares. A bottle of Shiraz from Chile,
would you raise a glass of anything tonight
and wish one another to "live long and

Antares.  Fill a portion of space, look close
no, you won't see his face, nor even the
face of God.  Some mysteries still need
logic to solve. Even through a four finger "V"

Antares.  Meet me there bring your glass
and a telescope, a star chart and the dvd
pack of every episode, we will set the
table and a place for every crew member
                                              and remember
to leave one for the science officer, Spock.

Turn the lights low and with
the remote control just hit play
and stare out to space, sublime
one final frontier, one final time.
COPD,  I have a friend who has been diagnosed with this disease, worked in a garage his whole life, exhausted and exhaust fumes, he is have a struggle and his is not end stage.
Erin Feb 2015
Children that I leave behind,
I beg you not to weep for me,
for I lived a life that was long and full,
I saw all there was to see.

Children that I leave behind,
keep living out my legacy,
you are the captains of your ships,
you control your destiny.

Children that I leave behind
I know you're feeling so much pain,
but keep your head up, keep on living,
and you'll feel happy once again.

Children that I leave behind,
do not mourn for what I lost,
as we all must leave this world sometime,
and live on in loved ones' thoughts.

Children that I leave behind,
do not fear when I am far,
and when my time is up,
please return me to the stars.
Leonard Nimoy / 1931 - 2015 / Live Long & Prosper
Thank you for everything.
"A life is like a garden. Perfect moments can be had, but not preserved, except in memory."

February 27, 2015 /itsjusterin
rook Oct 2014
All I've ever had in my possession were bones.
The framework of a biological nuisance, something empty
on the inside, though full of what any of us may call life.
At the least, the semblance of which we can be convinced:
parading a corpse across the bridge, most talented thespian in space;
and medicine, the hobby you picked up so you could learn to ignore death.

You are too old, now, to foolishly believe you can outrun death,
the inevitable silence that haunts your dreams and soaks through your bones.
You breathe in too quickly, too aware of the emotional cavity, of the space
between your thoughts and your actions. Your words have always been empty,
a reminder of the very symbol of your own faith, though you aren't convinced
that you, yourself, can ever measure up to that vivacity that floods his life.

Repeat that in your mind, over and over; that the anomalies in this life
can be proven as effects of the reckless and the brave, that their death
is ultimately yours to cause or to save. So, of your own importance, you are convinced,
and you know you are the best, always have been -- always, Bones.
So don't waste your energy on the thought that all of his promises are empty
and trust, instead, that this lunatic, this love, will survive all of space.

There's nowhere for you to escape this bitterness; indeed, no space
for you to claim as your own, your sanctuary. No chance of a separate life
when you've had all you can stomach of this insanity, this empty
endless game you've boxed yourself up in, until you surrender yourself to death,
to the simple cessation of your repetitive motions -- but, no, Bones;
he will never stop. His life will continue, his body and soul immortal -- of this, you are convinced.

No, he'll keep on going, as perilously as before; of his invincibility, you are convinced,
but you, yourself are, as ever, determined to follow his failures through space,
to diligently spout your expletives and condemnations and advice; you are now, as then, his bones,
and you never forgot that. Just as he never forgot who takes credit for his life,
his bones, his common sense --- you alone have, time and time again, forced death
to hang its weary head and return and yet, his own promises are empty.

You've learned to scoff at his vows of safety; his idiocy, you could handle. Still, empty, too, were his promises of faith. His loyalty, he proved, but you stay thoroughly convinced
that alone would he remain, had you considered your logic. Somehow still, like death,
the logic was an inevitability, and you learned to detest one trait in all of space.
You can see his faith fading as it goes, as logic proves itself a thief of your life,
and you lament the truest fact of all -- no longer could you be his bones.

And so I've managed to pull my empty shell together, as he never could, for in space
nowhere can I hide from the death of my ethos; yes, in space alone I dedicate my life.
And I am, as he was convinced, an honest man. I end as I begin -- with all I've ever had: Bones.
space. the final frontier.

— The End —