Poetry:

The Road Splits at the Lamppost

Where the road splits, at the Lamppost
There stands a house in which some live
This house changes year to year,
And no one inside is ever the same
For in this moonlit house, Tragedy is a daily occurrence
Or at least in the silvery-gray Mist that fogs the streets

In the summer, in the spring
When it rains, and during the sun-covered day
A drama will unfold

Clouds, Thunder, Blinding Mist
The only condolences of this small home
From the Bleak that warms the air and the Desperation that traps those inside

Looking out
You can see no street
A Lamppost stands brightly, sadly, all alone
In a sea of darkness and stars that will not shine
The cold bittersweet bite of the air, swirls and howls all night
Darkness is always
And the light of this brave Lamppost is just out of the reach for those inside

Some place happier, better to be
Wishes, but no way to get there
For though a window all you can see is
Grim, yet content swirling lit Fog and
A Lamppost where the road splits

Thomas A. McDonley
‘00