A lonely Friday once again
Had found me staring, as I do,
Towards the sky. It’s wonders still
Unknown to me, for all the talk
Of distant watchers, vigilant,
Astronomers and mapping men.
They tell me the twinkling stars
Are burning out, and even now
Are likely gone. So we attend
This great celestial funeral,
Mournfully wrapped in the black
Of quiet night and endless space.
My only constant, the eye of night,
Can give me solace, in amongst
The frenzy of eternity.
To know the same distant face
Was loved by heroes, dead and gone,
Will keep me warm on Friday nights.
jakeanthonyscott 