Streetlight

By Cole Douglas Hennessy

Under inky skies where the stars align

And the moon illuminates with metallic shine,

I’m entering slumber when one calls my number.

“It’s too late for calling now” I mumble

While clumsily walking with nearly a stumble.

The dreary room was dense and dark as smoke,

So as to hide the phone in a concealing cloak.

Hard I was trying, but the rings were still dying.

Due to the disruptive disturbance of rest,

Anger was accumulating inside my chest.

Sounding not once more, the ringing soon ceased,

Multiplying my madness whilst grievance increased.

Fruitless labor left behind a sour flavor.

Only time, I conceived, could make it pass,

Until I glanced far beyond the translucent glass.

Out in the dark with magnificent arc,

Flittering and glittering its small little spark,

Stood a diminished streetlight in the dead of night.

Recollections flew back to me like flocks,

Trapping me in an emotional paradox.

Once upon a time, it was not this way–

A concept unknown amongst the youth of today.

Once floridly beaming, the rays now lay dreaming.

But it would be a most disgusting crime

To claim those golden times were less than sublime.

Starting and ending where the crossroads meet,

Feverish festivities lined embellished streets.

All colors of visible light burned in the night.

My friends and I would converse in the rays,

Laughing and joking in very child-like ways.

How could I forget those musical tunes

Whose sweet melodies hung in the air like balloons?

Songs of love loudly radiated from above;

Their subjects I was soon to disavow,

But how painful it is I relate to them now.

When joy is high and worries minimal,

A familiar setting becomes liminal.

Teenagers were prancing while adults were dancing,

No cares were given for formality,

Thus birthed sensations that surpassed reality.

The date it changed remains a mystery,

But sources of joy became those of misery.

Things change and go like energy of dynamo.

Realizing they won’t come back makes me sad,

Thus thankful I am for those memories I had.

All the world appears so painfully bland

As I gaze into memories from where I stand.

It was never clear that era would disappear–

This concept could simply not be believed

When the strictly positive feelings were conceived.

Elderly entertainments that are dead

Presently party and rave inside my head.

Profounding my pain, it commences to pour rain.

If I had known those treasured times would die,

I would have set aside time to give a goodbye.

Beaten, sad, and sullen, away I turn

As the aged and ancient light refuses to burn.

How dearly I miss what’s locked inside the abyss.

Weary and without help I weakly weep,

Silently searching for sounds of unspoken sleep.

By Cole Douglas Hennessy