The Nightmare Man
Night extends to the far reaches of the room.
Dying sun attends the earth’s funeral.
Floors erode. Ceilings lower. Walls are soaked with tears.
Hope lacks resonance. The moon may yet shine
but just to spotlight fear. It’s hard to be without
the slightest haven, exposed to wind rippling
the wrinkled nerves. My mind is at the bleak end
of its checkered career. All I thought I knew
grovels before the unknowing.
Nights saps the energy to start again. It’s not a
killer but a belligerent witness all the same.
It will stay until my terror, my melancholy,
are of a piece. Look what time it is.
The past pushes hard against the future to
squeeze out the immediate hour. Somewhere
a clock strikes and a moment drops down dead.
John Grey has been recently published in Echolocation, Bryant Literary Review and Caveat Lector with work upcoming in Clark Street Review, GW Review and the Potomac Review.