• i cannot know what a fatalistic child does
    when wind blows 'round a house
    like a howling pack of dogs.

    anxious eats the voice
    from the little childs throat
    monsters in the room,
    hiding in the dark.

    rain hits the windows and
    the lights are all burnt out.
    faded wallpaper like
    the tattered face of hope.

    what are you little child,
    how can you stand the dark?
    don't all those faces
    keep you up at night?