The Street at Night

The street at night:

I, I lay my wearied head down on my pillow,
ready to embrace the all-consuming darkness that is sleep.

But outside my window that is not so.
What is it that occupies that waken world during my slumber?

Perhaps a war-weary youth is hastening home to greet his beloved,
And she does not yet expect him for another two weeks!
What excitement!

Perhaps a worry-stricken father is searching for his young son,
The one who has wondered away from the loving protection of his home.
What sorrow!

Perhaps with anxious ringing hands the new father awaits the arrival of his precious baby girl,
And with tender hands he caresses the face of her mother.
What joy!

Perhaps the aged tender wife is wetting her husband’s cancer-pocked face as he slowly breathes
what will be the las breaths on this mortal earth.
What heaviness!

Perhaps vandals and drug lords wait for sleep to steal their prey
So they can slip in and commit crimes of darkness.
What shame!

Whatever it is, this is sure:
The city does not sleep.
But I must.

Sweet dreams

August 12, 2011

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