Dry Eyed Terror

The quiet children on my floor
With bovine eyes they close the door
And leave me all alone once more.

Inside a TV leaps to view
Almost old and almost new
Hiding from the naked truth

Through the ceiling dusts a thud
The neighbours screaming out for blood
The tranquil pool is churned to mud

Out the lift and down the street
Gutters cleanse my sinful feet
And those of friends I've yet to meet

Splashing through the parking lots
Of executives and city cots
In a shower of heaven-send drops

Till at last silence once more
Capsuled by the oaken door
Frees the pity kept in store
For the quiet children on my floor