Night Terrors

I have always been beholden to terrors
in the dark of night—fancies, demons, errors
of my own unbridled mind, a lunatic
while there burns the moon, a wick
which casts shadows inside my skull
in between waking and sleeping, the lull
where Reason is dethroned and exiled
and the demons all clamor, going wild,
and more often than not, these nightmares
are conjured forth when daylight glares
to shine on those whom I most cherish—
my family, my wife, all whom perish
when in the fit of these frightful dreams
wherein I can only listen to their screams,
unable to save anyone from the boogeymen
that come for them, time and time again.
When I was but a boy I saw many rings
of demons in my room, flying with bat-wings,
and even now the Hat Man visits me
along with Shadow People who stare darkly.
And yet, however fearful such things are
they are not the most fearful, (not by far),
than when I wake up right afterward
in the witching hours, when nought is heard,
because I have mourned a thousand times
during such nights, as the moon climbs,
and even with my love beside me in bed,
she lays still, silent, eyes closed as if dead,
and I fear for her in this parody of Death
even though she always yet draws breath,
for there will come a day against which I
can do nothing, no matter how hard I try,
and so I know a future will arrive when
one or both of us will never wake again,
Death having the final laugh, at long last,
for every night we mocked him in the past.

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