A lamp under my feet

Two nights ago, as I walked alone down an empty street, I trod under a streetlight that blacked out beneath my step. Snap. I wouldn't worry but for the past three weeks it's been happening to me a lot. Last night, at the same light on the same street, it happened again. A man could start to get a complex. This lights out is worrying, especially in this time of year when we celebrate the other coming of Light came into the world. Darkness is horrible, cold and clammy and horrible, for me, it is the worse. I spend much of my energies in the pursuit of safe-keeping, a roof over my head and arms to fall into. I try to pretend to myself that the achievement of this will be eternal, that love will transcend, but really, everything is finite, and it is only a matter of time until what we have, what we have fought for, bloodied and scarred, is broken, taken away and broken. And as I write this, sat next to a blinking, teasing christmas tree, flashing on and off, on and off, I do hope God isn't just all made up.