Night

There are things
that happen at night,
when all the world is
enshrouded with the cold
ebony cloak of twilight,
and all living things ought to be
at rest, readying for the day
to follow,
but some do not.

There are things that steal away,
steal away in the night.
There are things that scurry and hide,
hide away in the night.
There are things that ought not to be,
yet happen in the night.

There are masked faces
and muffled footsteps
dogging the way of an innocent
making her way home,
late from a long working shift.
There are gloved hands
and disguised persons
feigning friendship and amiability
toward an unsuspecting victim,
naive and pure, soon to be devoured
by the malevolent lusts of whim.

There are things that steal away,
steal away in the night.
There are things that scurry and hide,
hide away in the night.
There are things that ought not to be,
yet happen in the night.

There are true horrors in the night,
preying upon insecurity and doubts,
the shadows that cause the child
to jump, the fledgling to start;
the sounds in the closet,
the footsteps on the street,
the way the moonlight reflects upon
a shiny black something in the
gloomy corner.

There are things that steal away,
steal away in the night.
There are things that scurry and hide,
hide away in the night.
There are things that ought not to be,
yet happen in the night.

But the worst frights
to enter the heart and mind
are those which are real.
Those happenings that can cause
the most sturdy of men and women
to shake and tremble with fear,
revulsion, and pity,
for these are no imaginations of
a childish fiction, but tangible,
discernible, visible,
and the victims
are voiceless.