They never did,
Get it right.
The wiring inside my head.
Some switches flip far to quickly,
Some it seems,
Not at all.
I've come to accept it though.
I can't exactly get in there,
And I've never been much,
Of an electrician.
But hey!
That wiring is me.

Beware! My dear shepherds,
I think you've failed to see.
There are wolves among your flock!
And one of them is me.
Are you not aware?
That in a pack we hunt?
Or that sometimes there are better things,
To have as sheep for lunch?
We are patient and unkind,
We creep slowly through the dark,
You're so secure within your power,
I think it's made you blind.
We'll start with your dogs,
And then move on to you,
And then you'll know that these were facts,
You'd wished you would've knew.

They come in the night,
running down moonbeams,
and I hear them,
laughing,
shadows playing hide and seek
or tag…
maybe jumping rope…
I don’t know.
I run to the window,
I try to see,
But they’re gone again,
around the corner, behind a bush
out of sight from me.
I leave my warm bed,
and open my door to the cold, night wind
but it carries them away,
and now they cry, as do I.
Each night they come,
each night I seek them out,
each night since they hide,
from me, and why not?
I took them to this place,
the playground of the ******,
cold and dark and alone
with no loving hand to tuck them in,
or the warmth of their mother’s arms.
I was God that day, to them.
Old testament , raining fire
taking the first born child…
and the second as well..
and brought Hell to the Earth
on one sunny afternoon.
Again, I hear them
just out of sight,
running, laughing without joy,
pointing at me,
and asking “Why?”
I have no answer to that,
I only know the “Who”,
But they know that.
At the end for me,
I hope to see them again,
this time to hold them close,
and explain the sins of men,
and tuck them into bed, to sleep.

On quiet nights the children come,
                                          From distant places in my past,
                                          And quietly their footsteps fall
                                          They’ve run so far and fast.

                                          I hear them as they play and laugh
                                          And peer around the trees,
                                          I turn to see them, but they’re gone,
                                          a soft and gentle breeze.                                    
      
                                          Do they run among the clouds,
                                          or here on dampened ground?
                                          I cannot tell, I cannot see,
                                          They’re nowhere to be found.

                                           I worry that they may be cold,            
                                           Does someone tuck them in?
                                           Soft blankets do they cover with,
                                           to fend off cool night winds?

                                           For now I listen in the dark,
                                           And revel in their play.
                                           And wonder where they’re going to,
                                           When night turns into day.

                                           So now I wait ‘til daylight ends,
                                           The sun to set, the moon to rise,
                                           And hope the children never see,
                                           the tears well in my eyes.

                                           Nights are when they get to play
                                           To be what they should be.
                                           To run, to dance, to jump and sing
                                           all this because of me.

                                          Some day I hope to hold their hands,
                                          and walk with them awhile.
                                          And not just hear them as they play,
                                          but watch and see them smile.

                                          And then I’ll kneel before them both,
                                          And look them in the eye,
                                          And ask them if they can forgive,
                                          it was me that made them die.

What use is sleep when your spirit
And perhaps your heart,
Have surrendered to a power that you could not resist if you wanted.
The fire is lit anew and the engines,
Stoked as high as they ever have been,
Very rarely.
Forget sleep!
You can take sleep and stuff it!
We're running this train at full steam now boys!
We're plowing through,
Day and night,
Brick and mortar!
We're not stopping!
So you take your sleep,
And forget it.

We are the
       Awoken ones
       Our muse we hope to stumble on  
Lit only by
        Star-and-streetlight
        Somewhere between the dusk and dawn.

|b.g.|

She was a Black Rose.
A beautiful rarity,
and the essence of despair,
all at once.