The street light is but a
stone’s throw
away from me. I can see it,
pushing back the darkness pushing
back the darkness pushing back the
terror pushing back the beauty pushing
back the night
I fear I’ll never make it,
for the stone may throw, but
it may also bounce off,
in to the great big horror that is
uncertainty
I could not be let to skip,
nor could I make to be thrown,
There is no one strong enough
to pitch me.
So I look towards the street light
while standing under another one
That stretch of wordsmithing looks wonderful in this poem.