-By Michael D. Strickland-
It's dark. A dark night.
There's a street. Long and dark.
There's a street lamp. Far into the distance.
Far above there is a cry. It's a bird. A dark bird.
Perched atop the street lamp. Far down the lonely street.
The bird cries again. We(I?) have failed, but onward we(I?) go.
Beyond the street lamp's light there is a friend(field?)
It seems to welcome us(me?) into a darkness that seems to bring comfort
No one is around. A cry from the dark bird comes again.
Is it the herald of something yet to come? Something bad?
There is a growing sense of dread. But the friend(field?) is comforting.
There is a pause. The bird gives one last cry and all is silent.
I'm(we're?) alone. I(we?) have fought hard against the dark.
I(we?)have failed. Could I(we?)have foreseen this?
Where did I(we?) go wrong? Could I(we?)have stopped this?
I leave the field(friend?). That much I know. Sadly, I hear(fear?) nothing is behind me as I leave.
A dark bird. It's a bird. Far above there is a cry.
Far into the distance. There's a street lamp.
A dark night. It's dark.
