Do I Have to Dream?

 
Those sneaky stealthy sinister monsters
The ones who wait for your vulnerable sleep
The ones that know you can’t fight back
With your eyes closed
And your breathing is slowed for peace.
They show their teeth
The sink their claws into your young flesh
(Even when you’re 50.)
You hate it that they can still make you cry
You hate it that your fists are like so much smoke
Evaporating when they should be clenched.
Leave me be.
Let me live
You cry these things out loud
You cry these things in quiet
But these monsters
They hide in the closets
They hide under the bed
They know how to pick the locks of the boxes
where you keep them
They slither out.
They lumber out.
They invade your soft sheets.
They steal your comfort.
They steal your peace.
Find a way to fight them.
Find a warrior  to help you fight them.
They can be slain.
They can be burnt to ashes.
You must be willing to handle the sword
You must be willing to light the match…or strike the flint.
These slithering, sneaking, sinister monsters have no place in your present.
Send them back to the closets and burn the closets
Stuff them back under the beds and burn the beds.
Put them back in their boxes and burn those boxes.
Be free.