The Watchmen

There it is again, the clank
The call for my attention,
Awoken in horror I stare
Into the abyss of destruction.

It grows louder still, periodic
To match my throbbing heartbeat
“Stay awake!” he says,
Beating his stick on the beat.

Those men ever watching,
Loom across the lone street
Not a blink of their bloodshot eyes
As they beat their stick on the beat.

I try to stop myself
But my efforts are in vain.
I slowly draw the curtains
And lean against the window pane.

He sees me watching
His fingers loose grip
He fades from view
Perhaps he’ll make a round trip.

Yes, it grows louder once more
But it is not very far
For he beats at my door step
At this dark hour.

We can’t watch the watchmen.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
Who watches the watchmen?