Disclaimer: Ya know, I don't think I need one. HA!
AN: Odd little poem that popped out of my head one night. Dunno why, but this little niggling thought kept bugging me: If you lived in St. Canard, would you trust your shadowy protector?
* * *
It's long since half past midnight
and the city streets are haunted
by the phantom that lurks in the night.
There's no turning back when you're going too far,
and redemption seems so far away.
And maybe he's running or maybe he's scared,
but you'd never be able to tell.
And maybe he's beautiful or maybe he's awful,
or maybe he's just another tormented avenger.
Maybe not.
But he's there on every corner,
hidden in the blind alleyways,
and waiting endlessly in the dark.
And there's no thug in this city
who doesn't know and fear his name.
All the cops they hate him,
and his public doesn't adore him,
and the shadows are all that he knows.
Living in the city you see dangerous things,
and he could be there to protect you
or he could be there to kill you
and nobody really knows.
They've seen him on the rooftops
and they've seen him on the street
and they've fled from him right to the arms
of the most ungrateful police.
And then he'll flash a dazzling grin,
soak up the attention
and vanish into the night.
They say he'll rant and rave
and you - you know his name,
and they all know his silhouette
when in lingers in the moonlight
and you can see the fear.
They say he's just a fake,
they say it's all pretend.
But the underworld knows,
and the legend grows,
until it towers higher than the city
that he calls his home.
The mystery forever lingers,
and it deepens every moonswept night.
In the darkness, they whisper of a thousand things,
of immortality and insanity,
of power and pride and might,
of this ghost of the light.
They say he's a felon, they say he's a monster,
and they say he's a beacon of truth.
But those who have seen him
and those who have watched him,
this creature of fire and smoke,
They all say he's a demon
or crown him their savior -
and nobody knows who's right.
But when the lights of the city glow
and the wind rustles down your spine
and the darkest darkness deepens
and a breath of shadow brushes past your side -
You know it's the touch of heaven
or a brand from the pits of the night.
* * *
AN: I didn't say it made sense, either. ;P Feedback please, even though it's just a poem.
copyright 2002 mjalta@yahoo.com