Thin Ice in the Midwest

Is it midnight my child    
are you ready to roam  
where the crazies swarm wild    
on the web  
Shall we tiptoe past trolls    
while the non-poets doze  
snuggled up safely in bed    
 
Dusty rules shaped for fools    
shall crash as we write  
of mysteries    
where devils once trod  
but beware there are those    
who pretend they must know  
all the answers to questions    
on god  
 
But their proof's like a leech    
which sucks at your soul  
until words become stuck    
in their throats  
bloated they scrawl  
blooded trails on the wall  
feeding myths they seem keen  
to promote