My brothers and sisters in blue have been catching hell lately. I pray for their safety every day.

Guardians of the Night

In the shadows they move, silent sentinels, Their steps echoing the pulse of a city’s heart. Uniforms pressed, badges gleaming, Yet beneath the surface, a tempest brews.

The Weight of Duty

They bear the weight of duty like Atlas, Shouldering the world’s worries, one call at a time. The radio crackles, urgent voices pleading, And they rush toward chaos, toward danger.

The Streets Remember Their Footfalls

The streets remember their footfalls— The hurried sprint, the cautious approach, The weary trudge after hours of relentless vigilance. Each step etches a story into pavement’s skin.

Eyes That Have Seen Too Much

Their eyes hold secrets—the horrors witnessed, The shattered lives, the fractured innocence. They blink away tears, but the memories linger, Etching lines on faces that once knew laughter.

The Nightmares That Haunt Their Sleep

When darkness falls, they lie down to rest, But their dreams are battlegrounds. Gunfire echoes, sirens wail, and faces blur— Comrades lost, choices made, lives altered forever.

The Thin Blue Line

They are the thin blue line, woven into existence, Shielding us from chaos, from our own worst selves. Yet who shields them? Who mends their fractured souls, When the weight becomes too much to bear?

A Prayer for the Protectors

So let us pray for these guardians of the night, For their hearts, heavy with empathy and resolve. May they find solace in small moments— A child’s smile, a shared coffee, a sunrise after a long shift.

And When the Dawn Breaks

When the dawn breaks, they’ll stand tall again, Ready to face another day, another call. For they are more than uniforms and badges; They are humanity’s silent heroes, carrying the world. They are Guardians of the Night.

The Angry Woodworker.