The Watchful And The Dead. Poem by Gerard Ohare

Nothing festers in the shadows.
There's no beast beneath your bed.
We watch you and protect you child.
We who are the dead.

Your breathe so soft and even.
Your fingers stroke the sheet.
You dream of mothers gentle smile.
We cover up your feet.

You murmer in your slumber.
Is there singing in your dreams?
We would love to hear the music. But we're deafened by the screams.

Dark angels come as nightmares.
Their wings are moonless shade.
But we're as old as those lost souls.
We know of what they're made.

They will not breech our corden.
Nor infiltrate your sleep.
Your innocence is a castle wall.
And we fortify the keep.

Outside the wind is rising.
And rain has turned to hail.
But in your room, since mothers womb.
Our watch will never fail.