The Nights The Lights Are Out

The streetlamp’s amber glow returns, steady as a promise,

its light a compass for the wandering, the weary, the brave.

Together you paint new verses on the city’s skin—

a mural of endurance, bold, bright, unyielding.

Now sunrise bleeds over the skyline, a palette of fire,

the glass towers catching the first kiss of morning.

From the rooftop of shared sorrow you look out,

see the city waking, breathing, moving—alive.

Your loss, once a vacant lot, is now a garden

of memories, rooted in brick, watered by love,

where seedlings of tomorrow push through concrete cracks.

A family—small cathedral of hearts entwined—

you have turned mourning into architecture,

turning broken windows into portals of light.

May your streets forever hum with resilient song,

and may every corner you turn echo the truth:

that even in the city's darkest alleys,

the lantern of kinship never fails to burn.