Alone upon the barren seas of grey,
An astronaut stands where no one dares to stay.
Clad not in suits of purpose and design,
But a tuxedoβhis fate, a cosmic decline.
His helmet gleams, a fragile glassy dome,
Encasing breath, his tenuous home.
Yet nothing else to shield from the chill,
A dapper figure, the moonβs ghostly thrill.
The stars, indifferent, wink in frozen jest,
As moon dust whispers of his unbidden rest.
Bowtie snug, though his heartbeats race,
A tuxedoed traveler, lost in space.
"Why me?" he ponders, his voice a sigh,
A question tossed to the void on high.
No reply from the Earthβs blue gem,
Just the hum of silence surrounding him.
The lunar surface, a graveyard of stone,
Reflects his solitudeβa man alone.
Yet in his chest, a spark of defiance glows,
A dreamerβs heart, where resilience flows.
He strides through the powder, each step a plea,
Defying the vast eternity.
Perhaps the universe will hear his plight,
A dashing wanderer in the eternal night.
And though the end may greet him soon,
He smiles, a silhouette against the moon.
For in his tuxedo, his fate well met,
An elegant dance with the infinite, yet.
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