the ones of the night

they roam at night, ready to strike.
with their hypnotic eyes and words and movements. 

tickling ones mind with all the things we think we'd like to find. 

their words and actions target the heart, the mind, 

the weakened soul that's taken some hits from their 

arrows, bullets, and bombs. a repetition of cycles. 

and so I sit here waiting for the next arrow to hit, 

the next bomb to drop on my target heart. 

watching them take aim, guns poised, skilled snipers. 

and by this middle age, oh how they've perfected their skill. 

i wonder how many confirmed kills they have, 

how many have fallen before. 

am I the next target for them to take out?
while my heart is in recovery from taking a direct hit from 

the sharpest of arrows, the full metal jacket,
the mother of all bombs. 

a direct hit.

came to me last night and posted it
but now cleaned it up a bit
and added the song