#222 Beneath The Streetlight Poem by Jimmie Arrington

There he stands below the beam,
The glowing ray, the golden stream,
The same as every night.
Like in a horrid midnight dream,
You try, but lack the voice to scream.
He stands beneath the streetlight.

He doesn’t move or even speak,
Yet each muscle fiber becomes weak
With everlasting fright.
As if a static, ancient antique,
His face, like stone, is cold and bleak
There beneath the streetlight.

As I approach, I nod and grin
In attempt to soothe the damp skin
Fear moistened in his sight.
I muster the strength within
And step beside him like a twin,
Silent beneath the streetlight.

No words are spoken, no words would do,
Instead I stand unmoved, like glue
Joining his nightly rite.
Hushed within the midnight hue,
I stand tall and straight in shadow to
The man beneath the streetlight.