The world is a strange and beautiful place. From any high tower a man can look out into a sea of lights that pepper the dying darkness and the hills full of eyes stare back out at him. People wonder, “is there more to life then this?”

Many die in darkness, alone without a soul to die with. The mind wanders back to the past where the same man hurtled across the blackest night in a metal bird over heaths of stone and empty space. A drink in hand, music playing, a thousand people swaying to songs that mean nothing to him because they don’t sing his story. His heart and mind are on other men, in another time, at another place. He would die with them but they are gone.

Lights sparkle in big cities, lights crackle in old homes, like an old cat darkness climbs down rickety stairs. The bustling activity in these honeycombs of homes clustered round him are too much to handle. Vast night and old memories are dying magic that no longer thrill him. He loses his purpose. There are lights that will never go out. There are stars that will never go out. There is a good hunger that will never be filled. There are men who will live forever.

In the saddest of nights he must find his stride and run a little faster and step a lot longer and find his footsteps again. He must run ahead of the man he used to be. In war one man enters an arena and its inevitable that another man leaves. His spirit must tunnel out and let light be the food he lives upon and not bad memories. Treasure isn’t found in the darkest hole but above if he searches for it.

There are lights that will never go out. There are stars that will never go out. There is a good hunger that will never be filled. There are men who will live forever. He must find them again…

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PJ image by Greg Brooks