The streetlight on the corner of
8th and Harriet talks in Morse code
every Sunday night at half past eight.

Maybe it’s asking to be saved
from the blistering cold. Maybe
it has feelings for the moon

and is only trying to be noticed.
It must get lonely working
the same corner for years

and nobody bothers to return thanks.
My guess is it’s trying to communicate
with fellow streetlights

and plan an attack like the Ents
did before they went to
war on Isengard.

But then again, only in my mind
I make perfect sense. After all,
it is just a malfunctioning street light.

After the Big War,
his uncles came home
(some of them)
different men but
bearing souvenirs
of devastation.

One was a rifle,
a Karabiner-98,
with stains of death
on its wooden stock.

His uncle wouldn't say
just how he got it.

When his uncle died,
the weapon came to him.

It spoke to him
of glory and bravery.

He was proud to hold
that dead German's gun.

Not many years later,
he returned, shattered,
from his own war.

His only souvenirs
burned in his head.

One *** shrouded night
he tossed the rifle into
the Susquehanna River.

Never again did he
own another weapon.

Comes a time for the
circle to be broken.

There is a desperation
In the eyes of a certain few
Who know this is it
This blink of an eye in time
And after that, that's it
The eyes tell it all
The stories the storms
The winters the secrets
The whiskey the memories
Those eyes man,
They see the end of time
From books they know the past
And from their soul they have today
Tomorrow comes so fast
When you know the clock ticks
Tick tock tick tock
This is all we have and we know it
A desperation so pure
The desperation to live
To live and to forget about dying

What did I think you were?
An angel in disguise?
What did you think I was?
A kid hiding behind her lies?

You took me in
under your wing
did you really know?
Did you know everything?

I was a child lost in the store,
You were the parent, sick with worry
You found me
With love, fear and fury

I love the friend I found in you
I love the person I am now
Because you had the faith
I know we will all make it somehow

Brother, You've been there
In my darkest hour,
You were the darkened hand on my shoulder
Behind the scenes, the cloaked power

You kept me uplifted
You kept me on track
I owe you my life
You've always had my back.

I was scared, I was hurt
I didn't understand the things you said
I didn't understand the anger you had
I had no idea how your heart bled

Pink , lavender and light blue with black veins
reaching skyward , facing east
Earths current shakes and electrifies the
sun starved trees
Wild onion permeates the birth of Tuesday
Hardwood , evergreen , peachstone shadebearers
rattle like maracas , mockingbirds spread the news
of the morning , the machinations of a forest churn
without interruption*....

There's a disconnection,
   because he doesn't know
where the line crosses
from crucification
   to melodrama.
The light plays
   on his face,
mysterious, illuminating,
  and all that,
but you pay attention
  to his wrists,
nailed to the slab
of wood in such a
   way as to incite
divine intervention.
  Cue the angelic choir.
Their voices are not rejoicing,
    though, but divinely wrathful
towards our imitating.