Mute and angry the street lamp spectres dance outside
This waxen island of light and you are there 
The silent one. 
There is nothing of worth to be found this way 
It cannot be shared but with the few
Who have felt the stab but not seen the blade
And opened their souls to heaven and begged deliverance.
There are no moths in frenzied dance beneath
This winter's lamp. 
No children smile upon this night
But by chance in peaceful sleep. 
There are boarded up fountains and empty streets
And you are here, the silent one. 
There is no love that will wait today
For the man that travels to a distant land
Or a place that is still his home when he returns. 
But there is time for a moment such as this
When you stare through the dark,
When you look inside
And find nothing but the hurting.
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