Macabre of Night

Oh silence of night why doth thee abide me no grace,
   Whence tranquility of sleep doth withdraw to a grave,
Then in the once hallowed peace of slumber's depth,
   Shrouded within the labyrinth of a distraught mind,
Macabre doth lurk, in the midst of its fiendish taint,      

Now I dream in apprehension of the bloodstained knife,
   With gruesome apparitions... distorting the night,
Tremble as a mocking hangman's lariat stretches taut,
   Then running, screaming, fleeing the devilish fiend,
Thence plummeting down, towards the sod of earth,      

Ferociousness of limbs now in a frenzied affray,
   Lash out at the air, or anything, with eyelids closed tight,
Whence bed doth move, thence nightlight would take wing,
   The furniture therein becomes my sleepwalker's maze,
As I fight of a foe... not within my dwellings grasp,

I stumble and grope... howl, wherein doth I dwell,
   As ligaments do ach and a drowsy numbness pains,
When soft arms embrace me, honey, reawaken thy soul,      
   Return to the living; consume spiritual waters of peace,
For 'twas the water of Lethean, thee hath drained...