Shadows paint slowly across these walls
Like cold fingers that reach out to touch
Creeping like some spectre come calling
As the light seems, slowly to fade away
Seemly to abandon itself, to the dark
The mind starts to play strange tricks
Was that a sound from somewhere behind?
Could that have been the faintest of whispers?
The shadows are gone, darkness comes calling
The heat of a dead day gives in to the cold night
Somewhere outside, an owl hoots, shivers begin
The stairs creak, as in protest of hours gone
The rain starts, and taps rapidly at the window
Then the wind screams with a mournful howl
The blankets never seem to keep out that icy embrace
Sleep fails to visit, and night still has that fear
Too afraid to attempt to switch on the light
Too scared to stop that groaning door that sways
Imagination is gripped with nightmarish visions
Surely that was not laughter under the bed
But weary eyes take their toll, hours have passed
Nothing has happened, and all seems to be safe
Until the thunder comes crashing down, hard
And the lightening flashes like hellish fire
Under the covers, to block out the terror
Peaking out, with the trembling of hands
Something is there, standing in the corner
Within the darkest part of the room
Watching, as if a predator studying prey
This is no fogged impression of a dark dream
But just as quickly as the fiendish entity appeared
Now it is gone, no remainder it ever had been
That feeling is here, knowing it had been real
Sleep finally takes you into a sleepless slumber
Morning light has come, but the shadows will return
Copyright © Chris Smith 2010
