I walk the streets at night,
Suburbia at its peak.
The crickets chirp;
A thousand voices,
Each proclaiming its own greatness.
Yet often overshadowed;
By the mighty roar of a car,
As it passes by,
Indifferent
The streetlights shine.
A beacon of hope against the darkness.
My shadow springs up in front of me.
It grows, it expands,
Then fades.
A life forgotten,
Memories never told.
But another springs up,
To take the place;
Continuing the spiral,
The everlasting cycle.
The cars are gone now,
Forgotten, in an instant;
Yet the crickets still chirp,
Sing out into the emptiness,
Undisturbed and uncaring;
Not noticing as an era,
Passes and dies.
And so I walk on;
Returning to the place,
From where I started.
I look out into the night;
Where the unchanging world,
Is magically transformed,
And see true contentment,
Lying just out of reach.