The same stars
Hang in the same
Night sky;
Millennia unfold,
Still they abide;
Watching events
Unfold over time,
As they did then,
Making mockery
Of catastrophe
Among humans;
Sending out code,
Beacons of hope,
To Roman soldiers
That never arrived.
Your poem exemplifies the futility of existence as sometimes felt and portrayed. Some days hope is that beacon among the other cold lights in the distance but some days the beacons of hope that never arrive (to quote your words) do feel the prominent kin. One of my favorite genres of literature in my undergrad studies was the naturalist writers because of the way they grapple with these ideas. So, I did enjoy this, yes.