Days Poem by Andy Brookes

Morning is a pile of ashes, half dreams remain, not to trouble
but usher in the dawn.
sleep that ever evasive friend
runs away to new pastures to count his black sheep.

mumbling my daily prayers, not to God you understand,
believers may but then....
happy to be alive grateful like all survivors.
we are all condemned men, our tragedy is to know
but that way lies madness.

Imagining the vastness of space cudgels my brain;
those far distant places steeped in universal coldness.
forever expanding spinning revolutions.
messages from long extinct stars their light taking eons to reach
us, are now but dimmed rocks yet they warm us in their afterglow,
like the words of long dead poets.

so saying my morning prayers, glad to be alive,
lighting another candle, adding to my days,
and wonder why worthier men have died.