I should be fast asleep

My eyes cast out the window
Through the sticky, summer heat
The shadows looming through the black
I should be fast asleep

The grey clouds cast a mournful veil over the moon. My window lies open to let in the breeze. I try to look away, but my eyes are drawn back, and it is my curiosity, or perhaps my fear, that draws me to look out though the oddly-smelling flyscreen, through which the pleasant scents of the night are filtered into plastic harshness.

The wind plays with the tall trees
The darkness with my eyes
The night time holds a terror
Of foreboding, lurking spies

The wind bites at the trees, and the trees bite back. The dispute never ends, and it’s never silent either. You hear them whispering insults constantly at one another, hissing, crying. The heavy air chases the wind chimes that dangle helplessly from the veranda, spinning in dizzying circles, constantly crying for help with the same four, metallic notes. It hangs near where I know a wasps' nest to be. I asked my daddy to take it down, but he never listens to me. The clanging and the whispering circle round my head, ‘till I feel so sick with nausea that I almost feel like the wind chime myself. I cannot sleep while they talk.

I watch the white moon rays
Pierce through the sulking cloud
Forming shadows, the magicians
Cover relief with fearful shroud

My insecurity intensifies as the light from above changes. I still can’t see the stars, but the moon is enough. Tricks of the light have always gotten to me. For seeing is believing, but believing leads to fear. I see the figures; people, monsters, creatures, drifting slowly across the dewy grass, towards my open window. My heart stops and starts. I wish it would make up its mind; I can’t sleep for the sheer adrenalin rushing through my veins. If mum knew I was still up at this hour, she’d ground me for a month and say she wasn’t tough enough. Sometimes I wonder who I fear more. Her, or the darkness. Maybe she is the darkness, and in the darkness I see her. Maybe I hear her, too.

The wild air though the window
Rattles my weak door in its frame
With no hope of rest tonight
Because my nightmare stays the same.

A change of wind and a door slams. None open. Doesn’t that relate to a saying? When one opportunity passes, another presents itself. Does this mean there are no more opportunities, no more chances?  Am I trapped, like my dream? Perhaps someone closed it, avoiding it. All I want is sleep, is that too much to ask? They’re watching me, I know it. The replacement stars in the street start to dim as the sun climbs the horizon.

I’m still wide awake.

The shadows, they still haunt me
Is that a shuffling of feet?
I’m six years old and petrified
I should be fast asleep.