Glistening rain streaked windows

Brood from within, sightless eyes

Indifferent to the grime that is washed

Away from without, as a shadow moves

Behind them, this room to that, unnoticed

From an empty street, asphalt river that

Never flows yet heaves from the passing

Of winter, hairline fractures and empty holes.

Shutters drawn tight nonetheless, blinders

Firmly in place, magic shields forged of

Paranoia to ward off haunted sidewalks

That he once thought might have lead

Somewhere, but ah he could see them

Now for what they really were, oh yes

He knew what purpose they served and

He watched, waited, bided his time.

The maddened ghosts of 3am, dragging

Footsteps like spades moving graveyard

Dirt as they lurched his way, whispering

Hidden agendas in voices that sighed

Through skeletal trees meant to lower

His defenses but he was much too clever

For that, and he sat in the chair pulled closest

To his front door, shotgun across his legs.

Toothy grin across his face.

END

“THEY”