I will not let you

Wrestle your breaking body

From my firming hands.

I will not let you

Accept that you’re nocturnal

And sleeping quietly

Through the daily hours

Of a fuller life,

Of all the smiles that pass us by.

Independence is

Both the joy of the wind

And the fear of the dark.

It is something unearned,

Loved and full of fear

When you think of it.

So now that my knuckles

Are bleeding and sore

From fighting your shadow,

I will not let you

Wrestle your shaking body

From these terrifying lands.