Thoughts while Waiting

I wait—and the sounds of the night fill my ears,
Reviving old childhood nursery fears.
The lonely owl mourns for the lover he lost,
And the waves on the lake below me are tossed.
The fear of the dark is the first one I feel:
What could be out there? It makes my head reel
To think of the things that I used to dread;
But the very word "used" clears it all from my head.

I wait—and soon one more fear comes back;
Of dead things, and ghosts, and bodies who life lack.
The lonely owl could be the voice of a ghost,
And the waves on the shore the tramp of the dead host.
The silver moon could be the face of my mother,
Or that of my father, or uncle, or brother:
But all this reminds me of why I am here,
And I push down, suppress, give no heed to this fear.

I wait—and I fear again, I know not how.
Death itself is the thing that I fear most right now.
I remember the day that my mother passed on
(Or her brother-in-law, or her husband or son)
And I fear that my fate may be soon quite like theirs;
All the mourners around, living sorrow in chairs.
I cry: "I will wait! I'll go on with my life!"
And I go in the house and I put back the knife.

T. G. 6/27/17