BY DR. AGONSON
I am alone as the house sleeps.
Every square inch of my skin creeps.
From this darkness I try to flee
but by burnt bulbs I cannot see.
A switch, a switch, just a light switch,
else I will be dead in a synch.
His knife is drawn, it’s held aloft
while I lay in this bed so soft.
My phone, I think, and turn it on,
by its light I’ll spy devil’s spawn.
An empty room is what’s revealed,
but my nerves are in no ways healed.
He is still there, in my mind’s eye.
My racing heart is sure I’ll die.
To the bathroom I then escape,
and glance at the clock, it’s quite late.
I cannot look in the mirror
in case my fears are much nearer
to truth than a midnight terror.
Indeed, I pray I’m in error.
I must see my own reflection,
I want truth for my selection.
“Look,” I say, and forcing my gaze,
try to break through this mental haze.
“He’s not there, thank God,” my eyes say,
still, the monster with his knife stays.
For two nights he drives me from sleep,
until I’m but a battered heap.
Past midnight, wrapped up in a robe,
under the stars, I think of Job.
Alike, was his persecution,
this did not seem retribution.
This was chaos, random evil,
that’s reason for my upheaval.
Little good did this thought do me,
while drowning in this hapless sea.
My invocations seem fruitless,
this horrible monster ruthless.
It’s either him or me who lives.
In the ending, one of us gives.
I challenge him to do his worst.
If you’re a real phantom, damned, curst,
than do something so I should fear,
or is it you can only leer?
He still comes sometimes to visit,
but he won’t stay a whole minute.
The light of truth embarrasses,
under it the ghost perishes.
Listen to my beautiful voice: