Dawn is creeping closer
and the wind is blowing past me.
The face of a poser
walking by slowly.
My head is turned away you see,
but not long enough for me to really breath.

I am just sitting here hoping, wishing and saying...
I am never alone.
I am never alone.

Afternoon opens my mind to another time
and the wind is blowing by me.
The face of a mime
walking by silently.
My eyes are watching you see,
but not long enough for me to really believe.

I am just sitting here hoping, wishing and saying...
I am never alone.
I am never alone.

Pretending is easy,
but somehow never pleasing;
and I am sitting here hoping, wishing and saying...
I am never alone.
No, we are never alone.

Night is falling in front of me
and the wind is blowing through me,
the face of forever , lingering in my heart.

My soul is simply praying
just long enough to have a little faith.
Only now as my head is bowing
I am truly breathing.

I am kneeling here saying...
I am never alone.
I believe we are never alone.

The biggest mistake I ever made
was missing the chance I didn't take.

The ground beneath my feet, I feel,
is moving slowly, sharpening steel.

The smallest sign was blind to my eyes,
and now my heart can feel its shrinking size.

The chance He made
I chose not to take
always was my biggest mistake.

There is just no sleeping tonight
I am trying but the twirling of my head
won't let everything be alright.
So I sit, gaze straight instead.

No, there is just no rest in sight.
The coffee *** is waiting ready
for the dawning of early morning light,
but I keep my gaze steady.

If there will be snoozing against minds might
tomorrow will come in glory
to greet me without a fight
and I will continue on
to the following verse of this story.

Verse 2...Still no sleep

Magnitude of mighty morals
must mind minutes on laurels.
Lay lying in lighted luck lamenting.
Love lives lively less forgetting.
Find favor of Father's future.
Fair in fun filled creature.
Crawl in crevasse created.
Can of cold cards played.
Pain of posture posed poignantly.
Part in pretty petals painted loosely.
Learn of leaning lantern low.
Lid open liturgy's lighted meadow!

So cold, so wet
so weak, so hungry
The weight of the darkness genuflects my soul.

So huddled I shake and I wait
Wait wait for me!
Come back, do return soon!

I can't see.  Thunder flattens my hair onto my scalp but the lightning does no thing to illuminate the path that must, that must be before my blind eyes.
How can I step without light, you call this rescue?

But the greater darkness is deeper.  Deeper than the shine-less drops of dew speckling my skin.
The greatest darkness is within and it stands before a great light.  I am a shuttered lantern of the night.

Father Mychal Judge bent down
to the woman on the floor.
His right hand made the cross in sign
like oft he had before.
Above him the North Tower Burned
like South Tower just next door.

The chaplain of the firemen,
Mychal was a Catholic priest.
Born and bred in Brooklyn,
He was no stranger to these streets.
When he heard word about the planes,
his safety he ignored..
He had to go be with his boys
His trust was in the Lord.

The people in the towers had
the choice to burn or fly.
So many that day took the plunge
preferring not to fry.

The raging fires melted steel.
South Tower started to collapse
The Bravest in her stairwells
never heard recall perhaps.

“Sweet Jesus, Make this end now! ”
Some heard  Father Mychal cry.
Debris from the South Tower
Like a scythe came flying by.

It was blunt force trauma to the head
laid Father Mychal low.
His friends removed his body,
before North tower , too, would go.

Thousands passed that terrible day;
the mighty and the small.
When responders came with body bags
Mychal was first of all.

Zero Zero Zero One
A strange number for a Priest,
who rushed in where many others fled,
May now he rest in Peace.

We die each night,
to sleep succumb .
Perhaps to dream,
remembering none.
Yet as we wait for
sleep to come,
we believe
we'll see
the morning sun.
Ten thousand million
days saw dawn
before the day
when I was born.
Ten thousand million
nights might end
ere ever I see home again.
If Being sees
in me no worth
perhaps this is
the last of Earth.
But as the Son
for mercy, dies.
Perhaps this good thief
too may rise.