Frankenstein’s Dream

Here’s the thing.
Sometimes you can save them,
and sometimes you can’t.

Sometimes there is enough solid metal,
enough of a foundation to strip clean
and bright again, to build on,
an resurrect the dead light.

And sometimes, it is too far gone.

But even then, there is something to reclaim,
bits and pieces, wildly reimagined
into new light, something unexpected,
beautiful, and bright.

About this poem

I restore old lights as a hobby. Some lights I can restore. Some I can’t. Some I combine. But few things are wasted. Most everything is used to create something new.

Life is like that. Things come together. Things fall apart. But few things are wasted. Only recreated.

Tom