Always carry a Zippo

Connections.
Like light. Like a cigarette, glowing in the darkness.
Who can say what moves us.
What distant drum calls.
We struggle alone in the darkness, waiting.
For what?
Something. Someone. Out there. Somewhere.
Traveling solo like us.
Cold and afraid. Unsure and untrusting.
But hopeful.
Is it too much to ask that we meet?
Somewhere along this blue church road,
this dusty and wearisome journey of life.
Where hearts pump red and bleed out onto the street
and echo resoundingly.
Beacons of loneliness. Thump, thump, thump.
Fear and confusion and uncertainty
and a belief. A trust that we are not alone.
That we are wanted. And needed by another
who is walking these mean streets
at this very moment
as we speak.
And asking anyone they chance upon
for a light.