Guardians of the Galaxy

Guardians of the Galaxy – a Distant Chord

In the cold vastness where stars are born,
They sail a rag‑tag ship, its hull a coloured scar.
Our Peter Quill, a martian‑born charm,
Broadcasts old reggae tracks to the far‑off fast.

Gamora, sly as midnight in a London fog,
Lies in the back of a One‑Mal vein,
While Rocket, a wily terrier in a lab,
Charts routes through nebulae, his data a laugh.

Groot, a walker in a trembling hush,
Soft‑spoken, “I’m your friend”, in slow starlit son.
And Drax, the thinking muscle, bold and stout,
Defends the crew, even when the cosmos rages out.

They fight the cosmic fear that stalks the void,
The League of Stille, the Void‑Weavers drawn.
With cannon fire and clever trickery,
They keep our galaxy in good order, no doubt, no dread.

At tea‑time in the engine room, they share a quick joke,
And, amid the cracking of boilers, a sense of hope.
For who else would wield both star‑powder spray and honour?
Guardians, bright and brilliant, teaching us to forge.

In the dark, with rumours of an indomitable' faith,
They share their stories; they share their truth,
Guiding stars, up‑his winds, with civilisation STEM,
Who can see? Emerald Earth, beyond the twinkling mist.