Recognition and Extinguishment of Power

I pass within the night

After the sun glimmer

Has completely perished.

I watch as the light of lamp posts

Dies with my approach

And I question

The nature of energy

That I shed into this world.

Some machines are sick with imperfection

We put on pedestal of our creativity,

The power they emanate

Is a capricious force,

Coming and going without our input.

As I pass, the light dies,

Yet always returns.

This mysterious exchange of energies

Is the magic I need to feel

On the daily basis,

Even though I don’t understand it.

(the image was copied from thanks)

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