Grace Miller - Lights

The city has a million lights
A hundred colors
Mirrored uncountable times
In puddles of water or oil
In broken glass or glaring ice
Sparkling off of snow, shining off of windows.
Some of them flicker, some of them pulse
And some of them burn steadily night and day-
There are always lights.

The first thing I miss going home is the lights.
Home is a place where night still means darkness
In so many ways.
One light in my house always burns
But is alone in dark country all around.
But when I venture for a moment
Further into the dark,
And I lie back and look up,
There are too many lights to count.

I could call them bits of shattered ice
Diamonds
Fireflies
Whatever God is up there shining through
Tiny holes in the velvet he covers us with at night.
They’ve guided ships
Granted wishes
Emanated solace
In the belief of something bigger than us
Bigger than this
Of someone’s power and care
Of worlds and lights we don't even know.

Oh.

Grace Miller

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lights-3/