We are all just beams of light fixed in time .
Like the remote stone cottage in the pine woods
where you stay in solitude
for a few weekends
in the depths of each winter .
Life in suspension momentarily .
Voluntary hibernation .
Sipping hot coffee ,
breathing cinnamon scented steam ,
feeding the birds ,
plunging into snow drifts ,
watching the sun cast rainbows and prisms through icicles ,
sleeping in a too big too comfy bed ,
with sheepskins in front of the fire
as logs crack and pop and hiss
consumed by flames ,
insulated by blankets of snow ,
and dreamcatchers hang from the knotted rafters ,
while you read books ,
snuggled into timeless contentment .
And I am slowy fading away ,
by increments ,
out of sight .
Just a receding dot ,
in the rear view mirror
of your purring shogun monster .
Just a blip
in and out of your consciousness
with casual alacrity ,
as you get away
and need to escape
from it all
once again .
I am the lepidopteran ,
attracted to your light .
Solemn and lonely
like a child on the evening street
who's father has gone to war
with the other men .
The streetlight is dim , the streetlight is yellow .
A pool of hope
in the gloomy clay of night .
The light fades into darkness at the extremities
before the next beam begins.
Giving perspective to a young couple
stealing sweet moments among the kisses
the promised big ideas of youth
breathless and anticipatory
in the small town night .
An elderly woman walking her dog
both of them habitual and lonely
she is trying desperately to convince herself
the kids really are too busy to call .
The street girl who haunts this place
and tells her friends
it's the only way she can feed her children .
The addict in the shadows
who has nothing left to lose
despite what his parents told him
when he was younger .
The kids who play
a last game of football
before it gets too late .
The adolescent shame-bringer
who sneaks out
and slumps on the kerbstones
nervous and confused
while he waits for his boyfriend .
The shattered careerist
who halts momentarily
under the light
to compose himself
before entering the unwelcome home ,
and is greeted with bored indifference
by a complacent family
who gave up caring a long time ago .
They all face another night
of torment and out of reach dreams .
None of the grim faces
ever shine upwards
to the heavenly dots
of twinkling hope .
Yesterdays memories taunt them .
they don't know
if they will cope .
And they all sleep together
in beams of beautiful light
in another parallel world .
in nocturnal inanimation
floating at low angles
yellowed from another
untill dust motes drift through them
touch the lives of every single one .
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