Soldiers of the Night

Ugly demons patiently waiting,
Singing an eerie tune all day:
"It's time to come out, it's time to play,
as soon as the sun sets,
we'll be on our way."

In the innocence of the night,
anguish lurks beside misery.
Calamity plots it's wrath,
and affliction plants it's seed.

The slumbering lie in undisturbed stillness,
ignorant to thirsty foe,
ready to consume their vulnerability.

Behind fragile eyelids,
unsuspecting, they dream.
A most perfect prey,
to merciless predators unforeseen.

Graciously asleep, each breath a whisper.
If only they knew, just how lucky they were.
Overcome by jealousy,
are the insomnious slaves of the night.

Insomnia chooses its subjects carefully,
bestowing upon them a duty
to obtain balance and
maintain a strict delicacy.

There is a battle to be fought,
in the shadows before dusk.
For we are the soldiers of the the night,
condemned to reap the wrath of it's creatures.

Yet, this martyrdom is not of choice,
but is in fact rather unwilling.
Without consent or trial, we are sentenced
to face the evils of twilight.

Courage is not instilled by a forceful hand,
but instead willfully decided.
Such force ineffectual-
no battle can be won
with an army unwilling to fight.

And so the battle our ancestors lost and
a battle we do not wish to revive.
For we stand not a chance
against well adapted monsters that thrive.

Soldiers no more,
only mere witnesses.
Helpless bystanders hostage to the darkness,
ambiguous to our confinement,
pleading for a good sleeps graces.