Ravens’ Cry: Oldest Nightmare
My oldest nightmare is the night,
its darkness and its lack of light–
indomitable, ancient blight,
the truest terror, fullest fright.
Once darkness curls too swiftly down–
to suffocate us and surround
our infant beds with naught a sound–
till soon we are in darkness bound,
then only does the old fear mount–
a terror rising free of doubt
that something under will amount
to chew our ankles, spit us out,
then pull us down to leave us there,
from whence they came– we know not where–
but agony is great down there,
some hell impossible to bear.
But monsters come, monsters go,
and children seem to grow,
till soon we much better know
than ever trust our dark dreams so.
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