Streetlights glow weakly in the darkness like mechanical stars,
A feeble echo of the sun.
Steel sentinels standing at attention.
But they are tired.
Their unsteady flickering pulses
Like laboured breaths weakened by exhaustion.
Each one is a tiny flame surrounded on all sides
By an icy black ocean of isolation.
Each one is a lone soldier of light
Surrounded by an endless army of shadows.

But each spark of resistance
Stands as a lighthouse in the crashing chaotic waves,
A beacon of hope
That fills a small space in the void,
Carving out a slice of the vast emptiness.
Each is a rallying cry shouted into the clamouring clashes of the battle,
A decision to continue.
No matter what.

And so they wait for the break of day
When the sun will rise,
And its natural abounding light will erase the darkness
Into a distant disappearing memory.