Seed

A far off storm

ripples through the moist

night.

Laying there,

eyes moving beneath taught lids,

my muscles tense as

a stiffness spreads like moist cobwebs

just beneath my skin.

Then, just as

an anesthetic failure on the operating table-

my eyes peel wide with silent panic,

a warm tear falls down my temple;

my tongue is cotton, and

I cannot cry out.

It's not a masked

killer, or an oily, 

tentacled monster that chases me-

but the rotten seed of a plant

sewn from love and left to the frost,

many years before.

We are all each other's

nagging feelings.

They say our ears turn red 

when thoughtful people remember; but

cold fright is more accurate

tale as

a shadow slithers 

across my grave.

Long hours I've spent with ghosts;

judging, questioning,

continuing ill-fated affairs and

imagining unwritten romance.

All the grudges held 

out of unfounded, misplaced pride

and embittered in the fires of 

childish haste;

fall back, turning around

and sour only myself.

All of these things are chasing me

and every moment I lay calm,

resigned to deep dreams-

she finds me,

she hugs me,

and I wake 

screaming.

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