Something is scratching, behind my left ear.
I cannot describe, though it is quite clear.
There’s a rustling sort of feel to it, creepy.
In moments, I’m sure, I’ll be too sleepy.
To wrest from it a meaningful scream
And a fall from grace, slipping to a dream.
The weird is restless this evening dark
Playing with fire, hoping to drive a spark.
A pretty little word or two it coughs out
A moment or three and then it will shout.
“Out, out, out damn voice of doom
I want you out of my head, my room.”
My weird cares not, for my prattle, no.
To wherever it wants, that is where it will go.
And now, I grant unto thee, a moment of light
As the weird little voice inside, cackles in spite.
Cock up the morning, bring low the mizen mast.
Something horrible, something from the past
Is going to be born on this awful, dead night.
Shiver, my bones, my soul, my undead sight.
There is evil afoot in the morning’s gloaming
Something violent with wicked teeth foaming.
I cannot hide from this truth as I’ve seen
And still, I try to wake, from this wicked dream….