Inspired by an odd noise in the middle of the night and the imgination of a poet

In the middle of the night, one winter’s morn,
a sound awoke me from my slumber so warm.
Intermittent it was with a haunting squeal.
I told myself “This just can’t be real.”

I rolled back over to return to my dreams
then the noise turned into melodic screams.
So I threw back the blankets and walked outside
to bare witness to this thing that had cried.

The row of maples so frozen and bare
danced a ballet when they saw me there.
Their branches swaying to the wind’s own beat
luring me in to their midnight retreat.

There was a creaking - but not of their limbs.
Like a metronome, it beckoned me in.
A feeling of horror washed over my bones.
How could this be! Please, not at my home!

The full winter moon cast a powerful light
upon a rope that was swaying that night.
From a branch of one of those maple trees
I could see a ghost...Oh Lord, that ghost was me!

What had happened? How could this exist?
Why was I lead here? Why did I see this?
I turned and ran back to the safety of my home
but once inside, learned, that it wasn’t my own.

Nothing familiar to say that I had been there.
This had to be a dream! A daunting nightmare!
How could my life so unnoticeably leave
to become a creak in the maple trees?

I cried myself to sleep that frigid night
mourning that image...that single sight.
The sun awoke me - rays upon my face...
Safe and sound within my own place.

It was only a dream - none had been real.
Only a reminder that the soul still feels.
©January 7, 2006 Lori S. Maynard
7 minute free write