Lamp

Long ago they went to slumber.
You can't.
Not when these thoughts encumber.

You sit outside on the porch, perhaps on a swing.
Alone.
You long to hear solace from a friend, someone, something.
Nothing.

And so you sit alone.

There may have been someone in your life,
Someone you cared about.
Their absence slices into you, much as a knife.

Across the way you see a street lamp, flickering in solitude.
And you feel evermore alone.
This is enough, surely, to destroy the remains of your fortitude.

You start to cry.

Alone.

Broken.

You long for company, any person will do.
Someone to say, "Come back inside the house.
Everything will be okay. Please, I love you!"

Instead of that, you sit and stare at the flickering street lamp,
Its image fish eyed by your tears.
And there is a soul-crushing revelation in sadness.

This isn't the kind of feeling that can be purged.
It's the kind that keeps you up till 2:02 AM.
Then the light stops flickering, seems the power's surged.

The moon isn't out tonight, and now the night is truly apparent.

It's pitch dark, and you descend further into your abyss.
The abyss in you widens.

And you can't stop it.

An hour passes. Two. The lamp finally turns back on.
So you stare at it.
And you die a little on the inside.

Even a lamp has something you don't. Someone to care.
Somebody fixed it.

Instantly your sadness is rage.

And you realize how truly lonely you are.

Because a lamp changed your emotions.