Falling Stars and the Future; a poem

It never rose in the first place,
ash falls around my shadow
hiding my means of escape.

What is your name?
Whisper it to me and
watch while the stars fall,
angels cry to the night sky
as if your name had just

ended the world.

How is it that we all work?
When,
in the visions and reasons
and confusions we are all
a question; nothing basic,
indescribable wonders of

the universe.

Brandishing guns and
hell-bent on self-destruction.

Like stroppy teenagers sent
to their room.

We count all of our chances
on the one hand but put
two-and-two together and
we could all climb away from
this end of days.

Stars fall while we talk.

Open the wine; think nothing;
pretend that tomorrow is another
day.

Brisk walking helps,
your doctor will say.
Stand still and they will all pick you off.

And when your time comes that
will be it, shame as I was looking
forward to the repeats.

Change can come in in an
instant, like coffee, it will taste
sharp and be murky in colour.

Look to the stars and pretend you
are free, then remember, no-one
likes change...

least of all the esstablishment.