A boy was alone.
Hung in the void.
Like a lighthouse he stood solitary,
But threw no light on the sea
And was dark
And was silent
And was alone.

Having none he searched for hope and found it
On shelves.
People had lived.
So many. And died,
But not always.

They were the people who took shortcuts that went awry.
People who sailed past China for love;
Who dug pits in the darkest earth
On a desperate chance
And fought hand-to-hand in zero gee
On the bridge of a starship.
People who made love to beautiful ghosts
And slew their demons
(or hid or were slain
-that didn't matter).

They flew to sky's summit
On razor-edged wings of stainless steel
And set the clouds to burn
Behind them;
Or, crying havoc in the wind,
Cocked their antique duelling pistols
And with wild and heathen grins
Ran to storm strong places.

A green LED of great significance
Winked on in the boy's head.
He bit back his heart
-which had risen to his mouth
on a swell of adrenaline-
As he ran and cartwheeled up the high hill.
And thought
There are others
And knew
There are others

He held the thought til after dark.
It ignited!
And crackled orange in the black valley
And lit his smile
And was warm
While he waited for the answer.