Night Terrors.
Time
and time again
you meet me
halfway from yesterday,
hit me
smack
in the face,
leave me screaming
weeping with anger
despair.
I prowl
in darkness
listening to the minute sounds
of night, wondering
am I really here
is this some nightmare
scripted by an insane genius
for personal
and sick pleasure?
And I wander
touching walls
trying to decide
who built them,
was it me
or some innocent builder
entirely blameless
yet blamed by me?
I cannot find the exit.
Life, you hurt.
Life, you dare to wound,
cut wheals deep
deep into my heart,
bleed me dry
but you cannot beat me.
I am not bitter.
I may be sad.
I am not at the end,
though I may be lost.
I can see a light.
Who is burning this?
Is it for me
or some other soul in pain?
I do not know
I walk
unsteadily
bravely towards it,
soon night will become day.
Soon I will rise from my bed
exhausted but alive
droop over the first dose of caffeine,
stared glaze-eyed
at a flickering screen
and learn
of some other night terrors.
© Berenice Dunford 2004
