He left for the hills the night of a thousand lights
As the families stood in the streets
Rooted like vegetables ripe for the harvest
It was like a bad movie, he lacked the recognition
An ocular strain as the road lengthened then expanded
To the point of fruition and the lights loomed with expectation
Growing, colliding and sparking as they neared
And the people stared with abject intrepidity
Resigned to their fate
He ran, alone through the ranks
Climbing scrub and scree
Slipping, tripping, dripping in fear
As the thousand lights or more bombarded town
And rushed in, a hot knife through butter
A match to kindling, tinder to smoke, smoke to dust
He neared the summit as the lights neared
Parting the terrain, laying waste to the crackling
And it grew, rushing upward in a chimney gust
And it grew, the soot, encapsulating his post
While he watched them pass
Growing silent in the dark,
A spark on the horizon, then nothing
But heat as flames gain the peak
