Every night

I say sweet dreams, I check

the room for spiders

and walking beasts that might scare

you, I wipe gently

the crusts from your eye

and tickle your nose

and it is that holds me

together, for a while

but then I see the papers,

and I know I fight my own

losing battle each night,

a small war, a territory

lost in the middle of screams,

silent and rubble

built back over night

to show a smile to the world;

I wipe your eyes each night

because they sparkle

and it gives me hope.

Ian D. Hall 2017