Interim

Digest this restless majesty
Hope tastes sweeter in the spring
feels distant in your throat
As you whisper sweet solace
to my troubled ears
Counting passing days on broken fingers

The nights grow ever longer
It seems once that I dreamt more often
Hours ticking off a slow cadence
Minutes marching slower still
Eyes burning wide open
Blurring the darkness into menacing shapes

Ghosts. Are they present?
I see odd things through the shadows
hear strange things at the closet door
Beneath my bed, do they creep?
Not while I sleep

At the back of my throat, a lump
I swallow hard, but it's still there
I try so hard to swallow the fear
To face the dark, shaken
and never awaken