Things happen in these hours.
This time between unarranged meetings.
These hours when the dew frosts
And the black sky is lit by dreamless winks.
Oversized metal candles that stand on guard -
To watch over fearful babes asleep.
Strong bricks paint our toy village walls,
And fill our horizons.
The clean square shaped eye holes
Wait to be filled with square shaped souls.
Feet-combed new grass lays motionless
Nature dares not speak in our dolls house.
Things happen in these hours.
Heroes return from lost worlds,
With weary eyes and hearts they come
To feather beds and soft swells of warmth.
Gentle showers fall into our plastic home,
A whispered reminder of the heaven's power
To wash away these in-human shadows.
Trust is made and broken in these hours,
Fragile life is loved and lost,
Abandoned memories attack & angel's lullabies turn sour.
The air above our roof tops is alight.
The endless night smokes warnings of the day.
Our sheet metal spires silhouette
The jet void relinquishing to midnight grey.
So remember downy babes at morn -
Stolen moments can be found at windows, in
These quiet hours between dusk and dawn.
