Tentacles and tantalizing thoughts of dread and doom
Tension mounts as Insomnia simply stalks into my room
Tethered to the bedpost, dare I peer over the edge?
If I close my eyes and talk loud will that make the monsters dead?
“Don’t make me come in there. Rest your overactive imagination.
There are no monsters under the bed looking gross and gesticulating”
My matriarch companion may have prayed peace upon my head
But as an adult I do insist there may be monsters under my bed
Somnolent visions post a restless camp and far too sleepless night
Am I paranoid delusional having given entirely to fright?
It seems that no one else can see them and my report is some grand prose
Reminding me of a childhood story and the emperor with no clothes
No clothes or grandiose pose, the politicians’ skilled and scheming
Peace is on the exchange table while our soldiers are somewhere bleeding
Brokers assess the capital gains and tax to manifest balance
Can’t pull the curtains to hide my shame when all that adorns is a valance
Mr. President or Mrs. President or God-Who-You-Sent, please make it right this time
Not expecting much, just returns and such and maybe a reduction in crime
And homelessness? Who availed this mess? Are we so much better than?
Odious that large populations of those derelicts are our discarded veterans
Still tense at night for remains my plight there’s no one on the phone
It rings and sings and in silence tings yet still I sleep alone
But someday or one day or never or Sunday my queen will come to fight
These monsters that lurk to a melancholy track and come to visit me at night
Receptacles and disturbed repose amidst the mark of eight
Retracting heads and retching sounds from where beasts congregate
Maybe if I hold my breath and sit so very still so
I’m not here and they’re not there… then maybe they’re under my pillow.