the traceable lines that
lead me here
pattern the sky
above the remains of a streetlight
its bent frame
shattered glass
cannot detract from its
deep and careful meanings
it speaks in its silent decay
of nights when teenagers stopped
beneath its orange glow
and kissed goodnight
before curfew
forced them home
it used to give a pool of light
that would be safe and warm
it feels like a home
Oct 26, 2013
Oct 26, 2013 at 8:22 AM UTC
the traceable lines that
lead me here
pattern the sky
above the remains of a streetlight
its bent frame
shattered glass
cannot detract from its
deep and careful meanings
it speaks in its silent decay
of nights when teenagers stopped
beneath its orange glow
and kissed goodnight
before curfew
forced them home
it used to give a pool of light
that would be safe and warm
it feels like a home
Request permission to use this poem