Strange how many random heaps of clothes and other oddments
Turn into a sinister hiding place for something feared yet unknown
Why is it so, why not a hope of joy if something magnificent hiding?
I do not know I cannot tell you
There’s always a fear that the mother you’re looking for is a black witch with fangs
Yet you can’t give up hope.
And yet there is fear
So do not criticize my house when you visit me because you do not know the terrors I live with
you do not know how brave I am to be alive
Living with these monstrous possibilities.
Like how a bedroom in the dark becomes a stage for terror or horror
And the creaks on the staircase terrify you as you go to sleep bringing you up after the deepness into a startled alertness.
Something is coming slowly and surely for you and you will not survive
Yet in the daytime we go on living as if everything is normal
This is normal
I must be vigilant because somewhere sometimes some day the monster will return
I must not be taken by surprise again.
Even the faces of loved ones can turn evil in the night in the darkness and we have to cling to the end of the bed and keep breathing until the dawn breaks
And it’s so late in this midwinter seaso
how darkness fells us
How the uncertain sun rises reluctantly into the new year
And we hope for something good
How my heart speaks 