Something once written in an automobile while driving in the south side of Chicago, dictated to an iPhone while sitting on an off ramp. A person by the name of “Little Charles” was standing on the side of the road and snow had begun to fall.

I’ve a thousand children.
All around me while I slumber.
Asking where they go when they die.
I’ve made so many promises.
All out the right of my mouth.
Whispered onward floating in the prairie winds.
I’ve no answer for the wee ones and no escape from the wandering minds.
But here we are in the chamber room.
Panting for the truth.

Dreaming of the river and the cleansing power of the calm waters.

Dreaming of our mother’s wedding and the countenance of the lord.

Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming with our heads on our little pillows and minds in heaven.

I’ve a thousand children.
All strewn about.

Asking where they go.

Asking where they go.

Micah McCoy_Photographer,Poet

False Prophet

© Micah McCoy 2026