Poetry

Night of the Demons

 

This time of year, long shadows

Envelop the earth and the northern sun retreats.

There are no sounds at twilight, like in summer,

When hedgehogs grunt a message and owls screech,

Gulls call and water laps a calming refrain.

 

Autumn cold holds creatures silent, yet silence doesn’t reign,

As fall turns to winter, and night demons prowl my brain.

The subconscious erupts; a boil set to burst,

Asking questions, making nerve ends hurt. 

I fight cold sweats, shivers, with duvet tucks,

Beneath quivering chin folds, fighting for pluck,

While the night demon circles my camp of quilts,

Prodding thoughts to surface one more time,

Of memories, long laid beneath embarrassed denials,

They sneak through the folds and climb synapses’ styles.

 

Awake!

Too late!

He is off again.

Have I paid this, am I strong enough to do that?

 

Outside, leaves, crackling crisp, shuffle their sounds.

Rabbits worry about the fox, who worries about the hounds.

I worry about the nothings, when night demon wanders round.