It’s only when the city sleeps

the cats begin to yowl

sensing something gone amiss

beneath fog’s thick cowl

Safely in their beds at last

the citizenry dreams

living in the days long past

of ruffled lace, and queens

In the shadows something stirs;

a hand, perhaps a foot

reaching out and grasping for

the light, the dreams, the blood

Centuries of fasting serve

to whet its appetite

prowling in the shadows of

this most accursed night

Stealthily it glides around

none safe from soulless eyes

peering in to each small nook

its prey there to surprise

Hear me, lonesome traveller

go not into the night

lest the spectre be afoot

and catch you in its sight

If you must mule-headed be

assured by fickle Pride

hear these words of wisdom gleaned -

take them for steadfast guide

Fly before its loathesome path

as all wise creatures do

hoping, praying, eyes held wide

’til rosy dawn breaks through

Let your footsteps falter not

nor tarry on their way

let them fall on velvet tread

lest you so mark your grave

If perchance you do survive

the creature’s gruesome lust

if no keening fills your ears

afresh each gath’ring dusk

Look you well upon the walls

for they are not of slate

glance upon the cobblestones

who tell of iv’ry fate

Such a gaze will soon lay bare

the follies of our kind

full of hope and dreamers, all

penultimately blind

It’s only when the city sleeps,

where wind will whip across darkened streets,

where lost souls roam

in search of shelter,

or another drink,

another drug to waste away their life.

It’s only when the city sleeps,

do lover’s love,

feeling safe in their state of mind,

never giving thought to lost souls,

or who may roam a darkend street,

or end a life somewhere in a darkened alley.

It is only when the city sleeps,

where someplace else far away,

a darkened street becomes filled with light,

and lovers rise to a dawn-filled morning,

prepare for a new day

and never think of what went on the night before ...

... when the city sleeps.