just past darkest, in pre-dawn
where only ghosts belong
somnambulist stood on the lawn
in lonely morn birdsong
up high a sky of dark blue slate
and smudged by moonlit chalk
inquired why, so soon, too late
he’d judged it wise to walk
he’d missed the gold at set of sun
the cloak of night long fell
and kissed by cold, feet wet and numb
been woke under this spell
in bare feet, naked and alone
his toes caressed the grass
had rare, sweet, sacred things unknown
disposed themselves to pass?
if not then how had this occurred -
just slept-walked down the stairs?
alfresco now, from slumber stirred
and crept out unawares?
no light did switch, no latch did lift,
no dead bolt did he slide
what nightmare glitch cast him adrift
and led him on this ride?
to understand why he’d been drawn
he leaned upon the fence
and scanned the hills ahead, forlorn
but gleaned no ounce of sense
his thoughts parlayed a trick was played
a kind of waking dream
for sport that bade him walk or wade
the mind’s unconscious stream
but when coerced the mist did clear
on tracks once shaded black
how he’d traversed from there to here -
the facts cascaded back
he’d climbed in bed to get some rest
a touch before nightfall
an aching head and tight of chest
that much he could recall
he’d said “I’ll live, not really ill
-benign, not far from norm
I’m fed up with this winter chill
but fine, on par, just warm”
then pulled the sheets ‘til tightly wrapped
to burn that fever out
but lulled from sleep, felt shoulder tapped
he turned as if to shout
a djinn or sprite was in the room
beside him, floating there
it’s skin so white it lit the gloom
supplied him quite a scare
and tall and thin, half out, half in
each limb a branch of birch
with pointy chin and wicked grin
the grim of some dark church
he couldn’t deal with that right then
so lay to face the wall
in time he’d steal a look again
or maybe not at all
“I’ll save my view from things untrue
and hocus-pocus lies
that see-through, voodoo, bug-a-boo
made by unfocussed eyes.”
since that’s the way he dealt with things
and had done all his life
downplay, delay the woes it brings
he’d shun, defer all strife
with problems near, beset by fear
he’d sit them out and wait
his steer was clear, why interfere?
commit them unto fate
you might expect fiends from beyond
that form of fevered head
won’t interject, reply, respond -
but here’s what this one said
“Why, don’t be shy, deny your eye
or will me to wink out
divert, decry, dismiss, defy
I’ll still be here, don’t doubt
concerns you spurn when trouble stirs
you never make a stand
your court adjourns, your head inters
wherever you find sand
but think on this, somnambulist
who sleeps all through his day
ignorant bliss by case dismissed
won’t keep my kiss at bay
Death, the darkest, endless black
says nigh it’s time to pay
somnambulist get off your back
or die right where you lay.”
what happened then remained occult
but hindsight left implied
the whys and whens and end result
was in the night - he’d died
a skipped heat beat, forgotten breath
then pale and stiff and cold
beneath the sheet, begotten death
the tale at last was told
unless, undressed he’d thought to rise
impressed by Death’s dark voice
duress he guessed might make him wise
if pressed with that stark choice
to Heaven’s bliss, to Hell to roast
or on Earth still to dwell
somnambulist or new born ghost?
the birthing morn would tell.
