An orange glow streams into darkened rooms.
Brown ragged clouds turn over and remain
A ceiling for the innocent and brave
Old rabbits grazing on the gleaming lawns.
Where nothing hurts us now, and all is safe,
Young mothers nurse their precious little friends,
And in bright shops, fine things rest in their cots.

Stars loom, as close or distant as a cousin,
Above the tombs of men, a silent vault,
A home for those who find in death a house,
A place to keep, when their long day is done,
Still near to us who feel the winter sun,
Which stings the eyes of those who must endure
The waiting years before they find their cure.

You, who neither hope for glory or demise,
Lie sleepless with these words that cannot cast
Anew your frame of reference, blind chance.
This is no future dreamed of in the past —
This godlessness of animals who last
To witness how the miracle of life
Once arose, under all-engulfing night.

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