The Last Lamp Post

August 8, 2012
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I walk down the dark and deserted street
As the last of the lamp post’s dying light flickers behind me
A memorial to my suffering that all but my heart will forget

The buildings that line the streets stare down at me with blank, stone faces
As their window eyes harbor Those who think they have known me.

And I tell myself that I feel nothing for Them,
Those who were both my allies and enemies,
But though I claim indifference, my mouth is filled with the sooty taste
Of regret.

For many of Them were honest and whole.
But by and by They slipped away,
Or forgot this shadowy place and left it with no trace of Themselves.
For my bandaged, brittle fingers were not enough to keep them close,
And They had their own agenda to keep.

So as They watch me with their once familiar eyes
I walk on.
Away from the light,
And know not where I go.

Only that there
I will not know sorrow again.
And that I will find true hearts
Who are not afraid of death.
For their fire will burn brighter than any others.

So as I leave, I hope others will as well.
And find their way far from the last of the lamp posts,
Never to see its dusky light again.

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