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Ghost Lights

by Ronald Linson

As seen through my eyes,
The lights of the city are phantoms.

My rods and cones depleted,
My macula degenerated,
Cataracts incipient,
The coming darkness is inexorable.

Red-orange and blue-white,
They cast no reflections.
The night is an abyss
With no hope of escape.

Like spirits of the lost,
The ghost lights haunt me.

Copyright © 2018 by Ronald Linson

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