Lights move along a dark river of asphalt.
All seems right with the night.
Neither sound, nor whisper can be heard.
Unsuspecting the dread of things yet too come…
…it increases the pace.

The journey has been far under cover of darkness.
The lights sense that the passage is near too end.
With purpose almost achieved it contemplates in delight…
…as twin daggers of brightness reflect back in horror.

There is naught that can be done to stop imminent dismay.
Etched into crystal clarity, a silence rains supreme.
With foul mood the journey continues yet the lights seem…
…lest vivid and more obscured.

Coming to rest on the bank of the river.
The lights contemplate the foulness - the providence of choice.
It had seen the smaller daggers and ponders what to do…
…with painful slowness it turns about.

The lights sickened, regretful and full of doubt come to a stop.
There is a bump in the road that was not there before.
It is unmoving, lifeless and abandoned by kin…
…Tainted, a prayer is whispered.

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