I walk in a mountain town, late at night, full of suburban sprawl and banality.
But still, people live and die here.
The stars shine where death came, young lives taken, just naive kids.
I try to be pure again, like them.
I walk to the memorial garden, and say a silent prayer for them.
The stars are crisp in a winter sky.
The blooming flowers, spring coming, but little hope now in rebirth.
Walk in light, even as death comes.