Do you know the sounds
The creaks–the moans
Of doors on hinges bent to break
Do you know the nights
The weeks–the months
Of barricading my mistakes
A moon has risen but from spite
These apparitions–they assail
Our weakened walls, exposed to night
As lanterns fail
Then come the wolves against my heart
We cower, peering out the cracks
When all the seams are torn apart
With broken backs
Do you know the feel
Of roughened grain
Against the flesh of sweaty palms
Do you know the dreams
Of the insane
Once driven out of town in arms
A sun will rise against the east
To burn its trail above our heads
And with its destination reached
We will be dead
To feed the wolves against my heart
With scraps and portions we have left
A fragile remnant of this art
That we did best
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