Light Poem by O.S. Brooks

The bedroom light is still on
Music is still playing
Clothes litter the floor in protest
A ceiling fan awaits command
The television has died

A mother works the grave yard shift
A teenage girl recalls her first kiss, first shot at love
Small stones are thrown at a bedroom window
Lights in the room illuminate an apple tree
Dead leaves pad a warm embrace
Winter approaches from a tree line
The music dies
A flashlight interrupts hidden flesh
The leaves try to hide their sin