I saw the ghosts of trees float above homes across the street.
I listened to turned-on voices of young people rising, and
music vibrating through one hundred yards of night.
While parents huddled close to the fire, watchful
I heard the next generation
frantic to grab life, to know, to be known.
The music ended, the embers cooled.
But hope burns on in young hearts
and I sit, a hopeful witness, realizing that
ghosts of dreams float above homes across the street and
turned-on voices of young people rising, die too soon.
Burn on, burn on into the night.