Premonitions of the Night
By John Herlihy

I stood in silence in the darkened room,
I mention silence as it added to the gloom.
Stone-cold silence brought with it an icy chill,
Settling into the mind with unwanted thrill.
Now every little sound seemed to give warning,
Night hours heightened the watch for morning.
Who accounts for an impending feeling of dread,
That arrives unbidden, uninvited to fill my head.
What arrives to mind but the image of a ghost,
Taking up residence there as if he were the host.
There would be a long thaw after this sudden chill,
Half hoping the ghost would talk, but silence still.
Disbelief vacated my soul like a departing guest,
Seeing is believing, I thought, as one blessed.
The eerie presence drew on with nothing to lose,
As a fledgling poet, this specter could be my muse.
We think we enjoy certainty concerning the unseen,
Such vision of the supernatural withdraws a screen.
Ghosts care not if we believe, skulking in the dark,
Our belief in them would give ghosts nary a spark.
Perhaps they only appear as orphans of the night,
Stirring vague premonitions that have no true right.