The watchman looks
over long forgotten skies.
Time had slowly crept past,
since he had looked out last
upon this city so vast.
Enshrouded by love,
he had started to give up.
Shaped in mystery,
shaded in moonlight,
he had taken a break,
but now the darkness
beckoned him back for the fight.
The demons were lurking
in the fog that fell
upon the city of the night.
Weary bones ache,
too long since this concrete
had reverberated through
his pounding feet.
Every foot fall, A sharp stabbing
like ice-cold fingers grabbing hot veins.
Every strained step
enflamed muscles
that had grown old,
through misuse and neglect,
but he kept marching.
Knowing deep inside
that the demons were watching.
His old guitar strapped
over his hunched back.
Battered and cracked
with strings missing,
but even now
its mystic music sings.
The demons hate this thing,
this instrument of pain,
makes their heads sting.
The dream thieves
never see him coming,
but they know he is near
when they hear
his guitar strumming.
Through gritted
worn-down teeth,
he hums a refrain,
something he'd heard
deep in the world beneath.
He forgot about his pain,
took to the city like a steam train.
Walking every street,
every alley and darkened underpass.
Kept the sleep depriving demons at bay,
he shut out the nightmare inducing
creeps along the way.
The thieves that steal
the dreams of the weak and feeble.
He sealed away
and then he sat
letting his guitar gently play.
His work over
at least for today.
Thanks for reading
Please take a look at my new collection "Torn Pages"
100+ all new poems not shared here before.
https://tinyurl.com/KCtornpages
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