Ken's Poetry

Dreaming

The dream changes.
Was it a noise in the night,
a car door slam,
a window broke,
a distant gun?

Someone stirs in the kitchen,
a board creaks;
I lift the heavy vase.

Do I wake or sleep?

He is climbing a tower
step by steely step
closer and closer
walking in the darkness
of the ear.
I see the grey glow
of his face
float the last flight
and the knife’s glint
pointing to my eye.

I am falling, falling
through the stair well
past writhing rail
and spinning tread
swirling swirling
into the depths
of wakefulness.

Sitting wide eyed
terrified
in the trembling dark
ears aching to catch
the smallest movement,
heart banging in bruised ear,

the gloom creeps back,
flushes the doorway square,
bleeds through the curtain’s folds.
The heart slows,
breath flows,
sleep calls again
across a sunless sea.