He enters the space station full of glee,

excited for the trip and what he might see.

He heads to his bed and looks at his picture.

He finishes his routine with his last bible scripture.

He lies on his bed, on his side and his back,

thinking of his family before the attack.

He opens his eyes to bright flashing lights.

It feels like a dream or a nightmare from flight.

He gets up quickly, putting on his suit.

He grabs his picture but it tears into two.

He runs to the exit, with his hand on the door.

It is too late now, for him and four more.

A missile hits the arrival door,

but only enough to drop him to the floor.

Another one hit; he remembers a flash.

He is sent into orbit, and his eyes close at last.

Here he drifts, from what once was the moon,

hurdling towards the sun, towards his inevitable doom.

He reaches deep, into his suit,

for a small torn photograph taken before his pursuit.

It is a picture of the world left behind him,

and the world full of people who will never find him.

His daughter on one side and his wife on the other,

he is torn in the middle and away it will flutter.

Lost in darkness, for what seems like forever.

He takes off his mask, and he starts to feel better.

After his death, he did not regret it.

He could now be at peace in his mind and forget it.