I walk upon the street in sneakers which squeak
and lead me to the lamppost where dim light shines
and radiates its soft glow upon the black, flat and barren stretches
on which looms out from underneath the shadows which creep
like the dead rising from graves, their grey hands sprawled
as they are crawling toward the light.
Yet the light shines on, aloof to the calls of the darkness,
deaf to the wild dogs and cats scurrying and lucky rats
quickly escaping the fate of road kill pigeons
smashed to feathery dust under car tires
creating odd, abstract art,
next to road stripes and pieces of trash strewn next to the drain pipe.
The light knows not these tragedies, but shines on,
simply because it's time to shine.