Frightened To Move On Christmas Eve…
It was as if my lung
Was being plucked
Like an acoustic guitar string
When every minute or distant sound
Invaded
And raided
My darkened, chilled room.
It was as if my heart
Was being beaten
Like a slow drum of war
As each muffled or indistinct undertone
Injected
And infected
My solitary, winter gloom.
It was as if my mind
Was being tormented
Like an abandoned child’s
For every excruciatingly drawn-out moment
Frustrated
And dictated
My placid, fearful isolation.
It was as if my soul
Was being mesmerised
Like an hypnotised patient’s
For each second hung deceptively
Timeless
And helpless
As my timid, shrinking desperation…
Pete Ray
I was terrified to move or make a sound, in case my father admonished me in his tone of loud anger, which frightened me so much.
I could not get to sleep because Santa was due.
Even when I realised that my parents deposited my gifts at the bottom of my bed, the fear still returned…
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