The Lights at Night

The lights at night tell a story
often faded in random glory
and lingering in layers
stories abound
in the boundless flickers
of flickering lights
beyond the spindles
of splintering limbs
slow waving hemlocks
and hickory bends barren branches
bare a story to tell
stories rolling through fields
and farms wrapped in the weave
of wire and aging wooden post
yet amidst the ire of desolation
a beacon bellows beyond
the small frame walls
a distant island
of life and the bending of light
pandering through wind-blown panes
pondering the shadows of night
a never-ending peace
called home
The lights at night tell a story
as slow as slowly strolling
along suburban streets
beneath the glow and glare
of long lingering lamps
hovering like the arms
of life leading weary wanderers
home in homes of long rows
hidden in hedges
where the house cat hides
and the scents of summer rain
and supper simmering
on a dozen or more
separate stoves
and the chatter inside chambers
each their own
but all so very much
the same
light glows and collectively grows
as each window glares
immune from the outside stares
strangers called neighbors
in the neighborhoods we share
so oft ignited
yet seldom invited
inside the lives
and layers of walls
where each light
of faint and faintly sullen drape
glares the end
of ending a day
as each light looms
illuminating another story
The lights at night
burn fast and furious
bursting through the fury
of city streets
churned in churning chaos
echoes unending light bending
nary time to stare
nor compare beyond
the unseen starry gaze
a tall tale of urban fare
and office lights at night
would not dare
awake the stress
of daylight hours in despair
undressed of any care
while white collar workers
slumber at peace and peaceful still
the homeless hunker
in humble creases
beneath bridges
the light bends
a story worthy to tell
yet remains hidden
trapped in pride’s swell
a thousand lights
times thousands more
resound as one glaring store
of a storehouse
where nothing is stored
but where time is borrowed
from time
and the lights at night
tell the story
grander still
The lights at night
tell a story
soft as a somber glow
of moonlit snow
that glistens in crystal rows
of random trees
lined and layers deep
through the forest and beyond
the realm of wilderness
wild and remote
covered stumps
and acorns stashed
like cash
‘neath hemlock hew
and a moment when
the swirling winds
bend the trunks
and towering tops of trees
twists sullen and serene
suddenly calm
frozen in endless time
the hours slowly elapse
as slower the sands
pass through freezing
narrow glass
but would a bird
awaken in the shaken limbs
only to linger in the chill
of a cloudless desolate night
where light cast shadows
in deeper layers
of dark
where there are no lights
but a story unfolds still
where the whisper of wings
tells all
and nothing remains
to tell
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