The Man Who Never Slept

The Man Who Never Slept

He came when all the clocks were wrong

the wind stood still, the night too long

his coat was wet with nothing near

he smiled, and every street grew fear.

No footstep fell where he had passed

the dogs went mute, the children fast

to close their eyes and shut their ears

as walls turned cold with crawling years.

He spoke to no one, ate no food

just stood, where silence thickly stood

and if you dared to meet his stare

you’d dream of ash and rotting air.

A preacher cried, He has no name!

A woman wept, He lit no flame!

The town just watched, not one man dared

to speak aloud what all men feared.

One night he knocked at number four

then vanished through that warped front door

and when they broke it down at day

they found no one, just smoke and clay.

His mark was scrawled in every room

a blackened line, a thread of doom

no paint or chalk, no ash or coal

but something torn from someone’s soul.

Now no one walks that way at night

the moon won’t shine, the lamps won’t light

and if you knock, and if you wait

you’ll hear him breathe behind the gate.

He never slept, he never died

he only watches from inside

and once he sees the shape of you

he’ll haunt your dreams till they come true.