To the old soul who lights all the street lamps by Jackson Burrell

You are dancing orbs of blue white in the night, a periodical faded orange cast down, attempting to help.

You are a thousand bottles of light, spread out for everyone to see, a sea of fireflies that flit and dance about despite any wind or rain.
You are the figure of solitude that features in folk tales; the benevolent god that lights up the world just so the one who would fall may catch themselves.

More than once have you led me home; led me forward when I did not want to go.
More than once have you promised silence and delivered, unreservedly.

My head peeks out of the door, into the dotted darkness, and it is filled with all the peace you hold.
For that, I am eternally grateful.



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