Night Watch (Poetry)

The night maps out a different land,
inks in the sky, blots out the clouds,
and wraps the buildings where they stand,
anonymous, in charcoal shrouds.

Shadows smudge dim silhouettes
of dome and spire — the smothered red
of grimy brick — grey minarets
imagination draws instead

as fantasy employs its pen
and sketches wild, unlikely scenes,
exotic skylines, alien —
the architecture of strange dreams.

The city slumbers, unconcerned
how night unmasks its darker side —
its soulless streets by fancy turned
to labyrinths where demons hide.

The watcher at his window stares,
driven from a haunted bed,
and whispers low his pagan prayers
to lay the phantoms of the dead.