I watch out at the shooting lights,
as my sisters blonde hair lays soft on my lap.
She lays with restful peace
as safety constructs her dreams.
I question about the boys and girls
who lay their heads tonight.
The laps that are being warmed
and the pillows that are sunk deep.
They dream differently tonight.
Their dreams may fade from a peace.
There may be violence in the room beyond,
loud voices bickering about the day past the other
and if not so, the dreams are scattered with us.
With the people who fill the world with hatred.
The people who allow our dreams to become nightmares.
The dreams that may not recur in the mind of my sister,
but will frighten her more often than once before.
She lays with an unconditional comfort to only be woken by her biggest fears.
Our dreams take us to the places we love, our nightmares to fearful knowledge.
My sister is privileged, we owe this much.
The children beyond the window,
the shuttering lights, behind the black wall
become left behind to be eaten by the newest nightmare.