Streetlights

I see the world two different ways.

Day-old tea and dried petals, spilled and scattered.

Broken mirrors,

envelopes left unopened.

Blotchy smudges of newspaper records,

and the words that left paper cuts.

Artificial flowers and smiles.

Bloody battlefields and fractured families.

Dusty picture frames, and memories

favored,

faded,

forgotten.

Streetlights

We use streetlights

to pretend the world isn’t so dark.

But this is not the only way.

Two a.m. comets and the smell after rain,

the sky dripping with expression.

Stained glass,

words repaired with touch.

Still whispers of libraries,

and books that understand you.

Oceans that sweep away sad sand scribblings.

Cream that swirls galaxies in a cup of coffee,

and clouds that tuck the moon in,

among sunsets,

sleepy skies,

stars.

This used to be a conflict—

one of the fiercest wars

that raged in my mind,

about which view to hold.

How can there be love when there is so much hurt?

But oh, how can there be hurt when there is so much love?

Wounds that heal over years,

scars that fade in days.

Gray, stainless areas,

and patches that burst with color.

The coldest night of a bitter winter,

and the kindest, warmest kind of tea.

Salty tears, and opened windows to dry them.

Shaky, wet whispers of “I miss you.”

Handwritten letters with no address to heaven.

A first hug in five years, eight years—

the complete feeling in your arms.

Grieving the Creator of the universe

with each countless round of the clock,

and still finding measureless mercy.

Hurt and love,

pain and peace.

This is balance,

this is depth.

I understand the shaken, decayed state of the world,

so far from what God created.

But it is not a murky mob of shadows either—

a bloodthirsty army of begrimed, begrudging clouds.

My rose-tinted glasses have darkened over the years,

but they still let the light in.

Because I can dance in the rain,

and I can also sit with the sky

while it cries.

I learned this from the stars,

talented teachers,

and the earth’s streetlights.

I think they are wise creations,

the way they stand in the dark, drowsy night,

and still they smile through the black sky.

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Cindy Green is a Canadian homeschool student who wants to live in a world where rain is colorful and mint chocolate chip ice cream is acceptable for daily consumption. But she is contented to live in one where dogs exist, fireworks are a regular occurrence, and trees are climbable objects. She began scribbling out fiction and keeping a journal at around age seven, and last she checked, hasn’t stopped. Aside from obsessing over the arrangement of words and fantasizing about maple-syrup-coated beavertails, Cindy spends her time playing piano, looking at pictures of outer space, loudly singing along to music, exploring the dictionary, attempting Highland dancing, and reading. She hopes to someday publish a book of her own, learn to skateboard without getting scraped, and witness the aurora borealis in the Yukon. Most of all, she wants to live her life colorfully and passionately for the glory of a good God and to point to her Creator as the source of all joy.
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Comments

  1. Cindy, I found it. This is my favorite poem on KP. It’s beautiful, really. I love it.

  2. This poem makes me want to cry and smile at the same time. The next time I’m sad, I’ll remember this lovely work. ❤️❤️❤️

  3. Cindy. This. Is. Gorgeous. You are so talented!!! 💙

  4. Wow. Wow, wow, wow. This is my poem. *hugs it* New favorite. Wow…

  5. Bethany Hope says:

    I echo Kate: Wow, wow, wow! SO beautiful! I don’t think you could have written this better!

  6. I can’t even describe how this poem makes me feel. I just want to say, “Yes. Yes! YES!” It’s so beautiful; you describe the cries of my heart. Lovely!

    • And I can’t even describe how this comment makes me feel. “Yes, yes, yes!” I wanted so much to capture the cries of hearts like mine. Thank you for being one of them, and for your lovely encouragement 🙂 ❤️

  7. This is really pretty!
    I loved it!

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