On the dot with the ticking of the clock,
the street lights are flicked off plunging me into an eery darkness.
Sound becomes the echo’s of forgotten horror movies
the shadows dancing as the puppeteer feeds on my deepest fear.
Staring into the abyss I hope evolution has taken place and I now have night vision,
I don’t, my heart let’s out a flutter as darkness swarms me.
Am I too old to sleep with all the lights on?
Perhaps my lights can be an inland lighthouse of hope.
A protest against the cut backs that discriminate against those that fear the dark.
Yeah, I like that.
Darkness is seeping through the walls and fogging up the windows,
escape seems futile.
Karen Hayward ©2016.