The Nightmare

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She sang the old songs and still the nightmare came,

A wraith of moonlight and silver mist.

The sun rose and she lost her name.

 

The dark is always much the same:

A cloak of shadows, a cold black kiss.

She sang the old songs and still the nightmare came.

 

She believes she’s the one to blame,

(A blackened eye, a broken wrist)

The sun rose and she lost her name.

 

“Lover, darling, feel no shame.

Don’t pretend you will resist.”

She sang the old songs and still the nightmare came.

 

It surrounded her with smoke and flame,

A brief encounter, a fatal tryst.

The sun rose and she lost her name.

 

The dark returns for the same old game:

Devouring her in blackest bliss.

She sang the old songs and still the nightmare came.

The sun rose and she lost her name.

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This poem was inspired by

The Rabbit Hero. Visit the website here.