if anyone is up there

their dark eyes are so tired
with all the things they should not know
from where these cold paths are paved
they are weary travelers

their dark eyes told me this, Father.

as they sat in alleys
skin colored with dirt, wearing thin rags
as they sat in the nameless graves

their tombstones said nothing.

their dark eyes are so quiet
with all the things their hearts could not hold
from where the sharp thorns are laid

they are so tired.

all these eyes are heavy with bad dreams
and the ghosts of their lives
lingering in the back of their minds
with all the whispers that not all ears heard

they cannot rest on these thorns, Father.


they are so tired.
so tired.
no place to stay
when there are so many graves

taking all the places for us to lay.


we are so tired, Father.
so tired.


why have you taken all the beds away?