As moonlight leaks
through creaking windows
in the lamented hours,
long after midnight,
hours when all
should be at rest.
The dream thieves break in.
Storming the nest.
Creeping through the shade,
keeping close to the walls.
Just shadows in the darkness.
Where they feel safest of all.
The inhabitants feel
the ice-cold drop of sweat,
the instinctive knowledge of threat,
but so tired and weak,
after hours have taken their best,
they just want to rest.
The sounds don't merely go bump.
In the night the sounds shout.
They are louder than
a bomb dropping on a glass floor.
The dream thieves
want you to fear, but more,
they want your dreams.
They have come
to steal your sleep.
The beings in the shadows
used to be wary,
for the night watchman
would make their lives
scary. For even
the dream thieves fear
his brimmed hat, the sounds that
strum from that guitar of his.
They shake in fear
when his name they hear.
Or they did.
But now the watchman is dead.
They can enter anywhere,
stealing the dreams
from your head.
They leave you empty, depleted.
Restful sleep has left the building,
all you now hold, is dread, knowing
that as you lay down your head
you won't see happy visions,
but a world of nightmares instead.
And more worryingly,
they are breeding
bringing more of these beasts
into our world
where they
will need feeding.
Thanks for reading
Follow this link for more.
https://linktr.ee/Wordsandfluff
continue to do this.
Peace, Love & Poetry
Kyle
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