The monsters of the night talked and talked
My reticence mocked
Frowning ominously, I baulked
At their chatter intrusive.
I felt so lost and lonely, in their crowded presence.
How could these night monsters be so abrasive, so sharp?
Going thud, thud in size eleven boots
Drowning the owls’ hoots?
So belligerent their tone.
Or unwittingly, had I ventured forth into the unknown?
They had the temerity to take shapes.
Wizards with long flowing capes
Flailing limbs, witches with broomsticks
Thumping the walls with kicks.
Thunderous, roaring, not bothered by the world snoring.
So unkempt and shabby, some so crabby
Tittering and slithering, a pack of wolves howling.
At times, excited horses stampeding
Full throttle, emitting chuckles and chortles.
“Oh, come on, spare me this cacophony
I am just a pathetic mortal”, I plead,
They pay no heed.
But, I think, a Good Samaritan stands guard in the moonlit shadows
Wanting to rescue me.
There is a chorus of leaves and the heart remembers
Those whispered promises, the tiny campfire embers.
Somewhere someone presses the keys of the piano
So softly, so tenderly, a lost melody wafts in the air.
A small voice from the shadows whispers,
“Keep on, keepin’ on.”
And I do.