I just woke up from my reoccurring night terror. There is always a period of recovery to go through before I can move on with my day.
that’s the description I give,
from one who has never,
ever been brave enough
to watch one, knowing
no actor’s fear could touch
what grips me in the dark.
In the recurring one
I am asleep, and then
I simply know,
sense his presence,
malevolent silence-
he is in the room.
I am going to die.
My body turns to stone.
My mouth opens,
voicing screams
that go nowhere.
Then I wake. Shaken.
Take quick breaths
as my heart beats
a staccato of fear.
The ghost has vanished,
leaving the terror as his gift,
the one he perfected.
My mind remembers
what I lived through.
My body keeps the record,
those nights when the danger
was not a dream at all,
when I lay still
for the same reason,
and thought:
this is it.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-04-29 at 15:03
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Silent Scream
My own little horror movies-that’s the description I give,
from one who has never,
ever been brave enough
to watch one, knowing
no actor’s fear could touch
what grips me in the dark.
In the recurring one
I am asleep, and then
I simply know,
sense his presence,
malevolent silence-
he is in the room.
I am going to die.
My body turns to stone.
My mouth opens,
voicing screams
that go nowhere.
Then I wake. Shaken.
Take quick breaths
as my heart beats
a staccato of fear.
The ghost has vanished,
leaving the terror as his gift,
the one he perfected.
My mind remembers
what I lived through.
My body keeps the record,
those nights when the danger
was not a dream at all,
when I lay still
for the same reason,
and thought:
this is it.
Poetry by Melinda K Zarate
Written on 2026-04-29 at 15:03
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
