A Streetlamp Ever Burning

at the end of my driveway is a streetlamp,
a streetlamp ever burning. from a glimpse
you see nothing, but a black post and a white light.

things aren't always black and white.

look closer. it is calling out your name,
beckoning you to give it a second glace. look
beyond. see the dirt coating the panes,
trying to stop the light from shining through.

see the cracks in the glass, from the times
when They come, with their baseball bats and
evil intentions. before we can stop them,
the bat has swung and the glass is shattered.
even if the police show up in time, the damage has been done.

the cracks. they are nearly invisible, a thin
line that is barely noticable to the uncaring eye.
but the scars of its past can never be erased,
no matter how hard we try to piece it back together.

walk around my neighborhood. see all the streetlamps,
with their perfectly polished glass. not a crack
threatens the image of perfection. yet when the sun sets
and the sky turns dark, no light shines through.

at the end of my driveway is a streetlamp,
a streetlamp ever burning.