As the sun peeps out

over misty morning hills

and the dawn chorus calls

with its piercing shrill,

the demons of the night

skulk slowly away,

a sidelong glance

at the few who got away.

 

He rises and stretches

and with sleepy eyes,

breathes a sigh of relief

and a laughing surprise.

The nightmare lingers

in his foggy mind

until a final shiver

leaves the shadows behind.

 

He opens the curtains

and bathes in the sun,

the heat of all life;

a new day begun.

Out in the garden

playful squirrels flee,

across the lawn

and up into the trees.

 

A breath of fresh

and life giving air,

the trickling brook

near the fox’s lair.

The sighing sounds

from the tallest trees

as the leaves are rustled

by the morning breeze.

 

He stares out in wonder

at the glorious scene

as a Blackbird serenades

the woman of its dreams.

But beyond his control

and outside of his will

the doubts creep back in

with a slow stealthy chill.

 

Why must there be

so much pain in the world;

such hate and division

as the colours unfurl?

There’s so much to see,

to feel and to love,

from the ground at our feet

to the skies up above.

 

When did mankind

lose the will to live;

to help one another;

to share; to give;

to feel compassion

for sisters & brothers,

for family; for kinfolk;

for any and all others?

 

Do we no longer care

for the ones who surround,

ignoring their pleas

and heart-breaking sounds?

When did we lose

the ability to be

the ones to help

the persecuted, flee?

 

Defend the weak,

the young and old.

When did our hearts

stop caring; grow cold?

We are born to this world

as equal souls,

before slowly sinking

down a hate-filled hole.

 

Us and them;

must it always be,

does the time draw near

when we all have to flee?

The land of the free

is in shackles & chains,

they’ve sold us all

down the desolate drains.

 

With a sigh of resignation

he shrugs and turns away,

the dawn is dying;

the skies turning grey.

A dark storm approaching

from the distant horizon,

is it the tumult of death

and dangerous division?

 

There’s a wave of despair

that is too hard to fight,

its better to sleep through

the oncoming night

so behind damp eyes

he retreats and hides,

as the shadows return

where the demons reside.

 

Beyond the panes,

the sky turns to coal,

The Reaper is laughing,

collecting his souls.

A bountiful harvest

for the gates of hell,

yet there, in the distance,

the toll of a bell?

 

 

Written by Darren Scanlon, 23rd August 2014.

Revised 13th July 2015.

©2014 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.