The lone streetlight
stands tall and mighty
A pallbearer of the dark world that lies beneath.
It was winter,
A father sat beneath the streetlight
His son curled up in his arms, like a dry leaf ready to crumble.
He didn’t need food as usual;
Hope was the child’s dinner, as was guilt and shame for the father.
It was spring,
A girl was strolling by, beneath the streetlight.
The transient scent of flowers culminated into a morbid dread.
Her soul was sacrificed, for vicious pleasure.
All sense of identity lost, wrapped up in physical offence.
It was fall,
A son was returning to his homeland.
Proud, for he had achieved enough the society expected him to.
Now ready to embrace the winds of his home.
He stopped to rest by the streetlight.
The armed delinquents crept slowly;
And the streetlight saw blood.
The lone streetlight is a beacon of darkness.
It prevails to remind the society;
Its descent into shade.
And that, we are our own destruction.
(Prompt :Trigger about real life crimes)
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