Keeping Them Down— or One Day the Sky Might Fall

They dream

on concrete and cobblestones.

In cold, wet gutters.

With eyes and faces turned skyward.

The reprieve of sleep never coming.

And there’s you,

above them.

Walking on air.

Playing

in stars.

And you smile and you wave,

but never does your hand extend.

Never do you lift them.

They are down there dreaming

with their eyes wide open, yearning.

And you are up high, living with eyes closed.

So you cover them, blindfolded.

If you do not look, then you do not see.

And sometimes, you hear their pleas calling up to you.

But you could never reach your hands that far.

Just tell them keep their heads down.

Their time will come.

And they forget.

They leave you to your pedestal

amidst the burning constellations they yearn for.

But tread lightly—

Don’t let them know that that ceiling is glass.

Your castle, fragile and volatile.

Don’t let them know.

Because if they heard your footsteps

in the stars they shoot for over-head,

they might wake from their dreams.

And if the beast woke,

that ceiling

might break.

Splintered shards of bloodied light, tumbling.

Til it falls in their gutters,

with you in their midst.

Til we’re all on one level

and you crawl

with the insects and rats.