Sometimes while I lie awake
Late at night when all is hushed
I count familiar sounds
From the sleeping house:
Refrigerator’s hum,
Tree branches brushing on the roof,
Night owl hooting,
The cat’s soft purr
At the foot of the bed,
And my wife’s sweet breathing
By my side.
Of things to hear
These are among the best.
But what I dread
Is when a noise is there
I can’t identify.
A rattle in the attic overhead,
A bang in the blackness just outside,
Footsteps where no one
Should be walking, or just some
I-don’t-know-what-it-is.
That’s when I feel
The hackles rise along my neck,
When fear instead of comfort stirs
And imagination runs amok.
When suddenly I find
My mind cowering
Beside a dying fire
While monsters rampage
Through the fearful forest.
©2003 John I. Blair
