Lamppost Ghosts

What ghosts they are who stand beneath the lamppost-
Cold and shivering,
In the darkest hours.
Young and pale
Like lonely lilies.
What redemption do they seek?
What comfort might they reap-
From standing beneath such an icy-
cold light?
Like angels they stand bathing,
Cleaning themselves in the sturdy-
Immortal lighthouses that glow
down our twisting-confused roads.
You can see them standing there-
eternally beautiful.
They vanish Before you look again,
And turn to a memory-
Or nothing at all.