How many flights must I climb
To get to what I'm trying to find
Holding onto the rail of my strength and will
So many times have I fell

Along the way of stumbling
I reach the ledge of where I've been
Bringing me back to memory
Of the times this was much easier for me

Padding up the steps of my own truth
With the feeling that somehow I'll pull this through
I keep trying to do it on my own
One step up and two steps down

It might be because I'm afraid of heights
And what's on top that I might find
How many floors does this life hold
Can't afford to be letting go

This hand rail that holds my strength and will
Most of the time I feel I'm standing still
With feet of concrete to weak to move
Never really knowing what next to do

As I keep up with this age old climb
Out of breath as I lag behind
Where no elevators are allowed
One step up and two steps down

The night often comes with a disguise
One at times that's hard to recognize

From the face of a hapless child
To a young man just this side of wild

Or a wife not sure where her husband is
The night though can go much deeper than this

It can also be the elderly alone
Or a lost love with no one home

The nights disguise could be a suicidal teen
Who will try to take life out by any ways or means

The night at times could use a friend
One to gently talk it off the ledge

The night also dresses as a man estranged
From a family that no longer speaks his name

Or a mother who decided that the drugs
Were far more satisfying than a family's love

If you look hard enough you're bound to find
That the night often comes with a disguise

When winds at night on windows roar
wax runs out dies candle's flame
you would hear a knock upon door
a familiar voice calling your name.

Don't respond nor open the eyes
the voice is keen over winds' howl
grows it louder its pitches rise
scaring even the brave barn owl.

Pull the blanket up your head
you are safe so long you hide
lie dead quiet not move on bed
with mom asleep by your side.

Between the pause your fears mount
if is a chance to be found out
one two three the calls you count
but count it right leave no doubt.

Three times the voice would call your name
for it has no power to do any more
but move onto where dies a candle's flame
and a child is awake behind closed door.

The way the late afternoon light bleeds into the room
through the window
spilling onto the furniture, the thread-bare floor

The shadows of passers by slip in
the space between the door and the ground
their movement swift, silent

The heaviness of limbs and emptiness of head
in sickness and in lack of sleep
the shifting of weight, season