As I pine for the end of darkness, 

Then day comes too soon,

The light that glows, 

Beyond our ability,


Sleep comes too early,

And sleep comes too late,

Yet we awake,

To our daily nightmares,


The foe that is life,

We can never outrun,

Who robs us of joy,

And all of our fun,


We could be better served,

By our masters,

Pale, cold and dank,

But we choose to thrive,

Beyond this inability,


Sequestered slaves, doomed to die,

As we make our loan payments,

Life continues as it ever was,

After a time it all becomes



And now something beautiful that makes sense,


John G. Magee 

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth

And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;

Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth

of sun-split clouds,-and done a hundred things

You have not dreamed of-wheeled and soared and swung

High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,

I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung

My eager craft through footless halls of air….

Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue

I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace

Where never lark nor ever eagle flew-

And, while with silent lifting mind I’ve trod

The high untrespassed sanctity of space,

Put out my hand, and touched the face of God

This was the poem recited at the end of the TV broadcast day, back when there was such a thing,

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