Assassins

Footsteps heard in the darkness,
closets that hold moans only you can hear,
the sense serve assassins born of inner terror.

It’s never the threat you see
that gives the cold sweats at night,
instead it is the slayer in the dreams,
phantoms that are felt though never really there
who hold a butcher knife to your peace,
and keep the insides burning
from a dread that has no face.

There’s no logic to use a shield
against the murderer who exists in your mind,
no escape from the blades that strike
their blows with dread’s razor edge.

Only when you turn on the light
amid the darkness you have created
can you see the predator’s face is truly your own,
so you can close the door on his intrusion
by seeing that he only has a weapon you gave him.

Problems with ghost criminals in the mind
is killing one never ends them all,
tomorrow they can rise again
come without invite to stalk and molest
until the war remains every day
with battles coming again,
the only peace is found
from never assuming the enemy is dead.