Nightwatch (Poetry)

There is no solace to be had by day —
the world’s too busybody-ing and loud.
There’s too few places left to be alone
and nowhere far enough from the mad crowd.

But on the nightwatch when all are abed
and out across the valley shadows creep
then silence soothes and helps to heal the hurt —
offering such peace those hours keep

which shrouds the soul — cocoons the weary mind
’til troubles fade like mist — forgotten — gone
and thoughts stray into fancy — a brief glimpse
of something strange... and solitude’s undone.

While the living take their rest, the dead come back
the warmth of breath attracts a ghost or two
not obvious but hovering on the brink
the veil so thin a half-seen shape looms through.

Tuned in to frequencies of sheer despair
perhaps they seek some way to reconnect
for comforts sake — whether theirs or ours —
a shiver runs — despite cool intellect

insisting it is just a trick of light
a sudden draft that swings a creaking door
the figure by the window can’t be real —
it’s all imagination — nothing more.

And yet maybe the night’s a different land
with other rules that govern time and place —
a crossroads where the spirits come and go
and on occasion trespass on our space.

I take the nightwatch often — shun the day
alone but not alone, I bide my time.
If they mean harm I’m certain I would know —
their presence and their purpose seem benign.

And though I’m getting used to the unnamed
lingering before they pass on through
this grey dimension — nebulous — unsure —
it’s hard to tell just who is watching who.