Somewhere in that silent space
Where words become forgotten prayers
A child sits with tatterred toys
Shaking beneath hypnotic stares

The cancer rests within her bones
Demon skulls her eyes reflect
Eucharist placed upon her tongue
Graying product of long neglect

How many children lay dead inside
The corners of the human mind
Little bones and broken hearts
Relics too obscure to find

On the bridge the hero stands
Empty briefcase in his hand
Ten minutes until All Saints Day
Ghosts and goblins in heart of man

What do you do
When you run out of places left inside
Or of warm nights
Or of nice dreams
What are you supposed to do

And the dead come forth one by one
And tears well within his empty eyes
And pieces of him join their ranks
The final, solemn compromise