Wayne Michael DeHart ( September, 2021)

 

Fear

cannot

be ignored.

It mauls my mind

and torments my soul,

brutally, through the night.

Vicious, venomous, vengeful,

the Beast backs off at day’s first light.

 

Sleep

drops by

for a spell.

Does not settle

or stay long enough

to calm stress or ease angst.

Sandman moves on, in search of

tired, restless souls in safer spaces.

 

Clouds,

lonely,

wander past.

The poet’s gaze

fills with sparkling waves

of rays dancing, glancing

off watchful, weathered windows.

His eye light dies, and dread draws near.

 

Throat

spasms

choke me hard

come twilight time.

Winter’s early dusk

prolongs night’s terror siege.

Fret festers. Fright fills this room,

where madness wins and mayhem rules.

 

Fierce,

frenzied,

fire attacks

blister my brain.

They rage in hot bursts;

flaring fast, flaming out.

Enough, can’t take any more.

Then comes Hell, and burns down my door.

 

Crushed,

consumed,

for so long.

“Shake it off, boy,

it’s all in your head.”

Panic reigns, peril rains.

The Beast bites deep in the dark;

where no one sees, when no one hears.

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