Awakened from slumber, by a dream
such a fright,
an impotent scream in your throat.
you lie wide awake in the dead
of the night
before a rerun of Murder, She Wrote.

Your eyelids are heavy, but your heart's
still aflutter
your nightmare still fresh in your mind.
You turn up the lights as the chill
makes you shudder
you're wishing to simply unwind.

then it's back off to bed, the remote tucked away
after re-checking the locks on your door.
You're praying for shut-eye to face the new day,
just maybe an hour or more.

Phantoms and ghosts, the Boogeyman too, the fears race around in your head.
But along with the dustbunnies, shoe boxes, lint...
what else is under YOUR bed?