Night Stalker

The night quiets: he watches. The stars spin: he watches. The moon falls: he watches. A stalker. A man who needs his woman. Through the window of a passing cab, through the open slit in a door left a jar, and through the pain of glass which sits besides her window bed, he watches. It matters not who his mark is. Whether she paled skin or blank. It does not matter where she comes from, whether she has dainty flesh or not. Brown skin, black skin, brown eyes, blue eyes are all the same. That is not what he watches. What he watches is the soul.

A old town girl this time he gazes at. Perched from the rafters of a steeple high. She gazes down into the room, silk and lace. White skin covered by white sheets. Soft hands clutching cool blankets. From the moonlight behind him, silhouette him in a black form he watches her breath. He watches her chest rise and fall. A blissful sleep.

A city now, one past it's prime. A horrid place filled with the stench of cows and the cry of pigs. Too many people - too little space. He chose a new mark this night. A poor woman from the local parish -- short young and vibrant. She paces all night her heart a flutter from the glimpse she caught of true prince. He watches her pace back and forth over the lonely fire. Glimpsing her shadows as she wanders back and forth. Back and forth.

And now an open forest, in the shade of an old yew true sleeps a shepherds daughter. A lass with not a care in the world, vibrant, loving, and cheerful. Her little heart going pitter patter as the crickets chirp in the cold night air. Asleep now under the broad protection of an old yew tree covered in a blanket of wool and a blanket of stars. He watches her smile.

It maters not a town, a city, or a lonely glen. It maters not an old damsel, a young shepherdess or a poor peasant. Whether rich or poor it matters not. All he cares about is the soul. It is the soul he watches under the shadows of the night. It is the soul he watches perched from the rafters. It is the soul he watches under an old yew tree. It is the soul he watches as slowly he stalks on.