"five o'clock in the morning"

Steps turn heavy at the darkest part of morning
Eyes stare blankly into the black of the backs of eyelids
--there is  a steady pounding of the heart that drives dead men wild.
A thirst, a hunger, a desire unattainable to the lost.
Mourn the dead morality of this place
Seek a saint and pray for miracles
Pray for your children: sons and daughters
Pray to the Sacred Mother: ask her to pray for mercy;
   you need it
It all comes down to you
   in the end
A pattern, a cycle, a waltz
Dance it, dance as they have danced
   those lonely and lost
And remember their smile
   when they are given bread