Give Him Not a Thing

I heard steps in the darkness and I knew right away

It was that thief of the night come to steal the day.

He, so full of sorrow, but lacking all shame.

He sobs with the mourners but laughs at the blame.

His voice echoed loudly in the back of my skull

And no matter how long I waited, I pleaded or begged, sleep would not fall.

When the morning showed brightly and blinded my eyes

I groaned and I grumbled for believing his lies.

The day had gone nowhere, the birds sang, the sun shined,

It was only my night and my rest which I'd signed.

I had forgotten to dream about beautiful things,

Instead only haunted by the Dark Angel's wings.

So I beg you dear Reader, I plead, I implore,

Don't give him a thing before he's called for.

He owns not the Night, nor the Day, nor the Sun, nor the Moon, nor You and not I, for no Thing can be his,

But he'll take and he'll take and he'll take and he'll take, if you do no love all that still Is.

Then he has no need for patience and no need for grace

If you forego the world and give Him your gaze

Then you already dwell in his dark, sunless place.