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—A Lunar Ballad from the Year 2088

The year was 2088—
I stood in Beijing beneath neon skies,
Clutching a visa to the Moon,
Where dynasties now rise beyond the clouds.

China, bold architect of the stars,
Has carved empires on the Dark Side—
No longer myth or mystery,
But fields of fusion and factories of fire.

Helium-3, mined from silver dust,
Feeds reactors like newborn suns,
Its radiant breath beamed to Earth
Through radio waves that hum like prayer.

Moon is no longer a lifeless rock—
It breathes with industry and grace.
Two hundred pioneers now call it home,
Cradled in glass domes kissed by starlight.

From its soil, green hues emerge—
Lunar gardens bloom in synthetic rain,
A soft rebellion against the cold void,
Where silence once reigned unbroken.

The Moon—
A launchpad, a lab,
An empire of dreamers and coded command.
And above us, floating stations gleam—
Space Islands, fuel stops for tomorrow’s odyssey.

China now commands the current of power,
Energy pulses in her hands—
While Earth bows gently to the moonlit tides
Of this celestial dynasty.

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