Night, At Night i sit.
She turns in the bed and sleeps all expression in her soft face gone,
the storm brews in the distance, dream catchers rustle in the breeze.
Memories of a distant hotel bar burn in my mind.
Drinks, soft plush velvet in which feet sank, the smell of perfume.
A silent tear falls down my cheek, the floorboards don't creek, only the dream catchers watchful hands stand protectively against the window closest to her.
The soft feathers almost brush her face, as if standing guard over the demons that often escape leaving her in a sweating nightmare.
Night, at Night i stand.
The rocking chair falls forwards and catching itself slides back into reality, the cot now takes place of the corner as fatherhood now takes mine.
The dream catchers sigh can be heard now guarding the little precious package fast asleep in a colourful world.
Night, at Night i pace,
waiting for the car lights signaling the package has returned to the sender.
My words are nothing but suddenly seem to spill over into the room in black and white, i bow my head and she still sleeps, unaware of my silent suffering.
The catcher now working it's magic.
Night, at Night i sleep.
She turns to face me and in that moment we both know.
I smile which catches her off guard.
I clasp her aged wrinkled hands and whisper words of a distant hotel bar and drinks leading us through this life.
I know the dream catchers eye watches over me now, we both lay there, contented, and as we parted from this world i saw the hands of the catcher.
His face old and weathered. He offered us his hands, and pulled us gently into the rocking lullaby of his world.
