Torchlight Sermons at the Edge of Forever

Neon hums above frozen prayers, Figures in white, shadow-wrapped and still. The flames they hold don’t warm, But burn into the retina — A warning, or perhaps a hymn.

Engines idle, restless as the night, While the snow erases their tracks. Where they go, no map exists. Only the glow of a forgotten place And the silence of a promise never kept.