The Visitor

The Visitor

I've seen it creeping around the house
Hands gripping corners and eyes peeking
Alone in dark living room I sit
Stare at curtains softly stirring

Suddenly the softest creaking
Of bedroom closet door
No one is in the house
I assure myself

Yet I feel a vice
On rapidly beating heart
Ears pound like beating hammers
Spine a tingling livewire

Telltale footsteps of a nightmare
Moving ‘cross the floor
Eyes as wide as dinner plates
I stare at empty door

Night is silent cotton
Stuffed trembling in my ears
As creaking halts at top of stairs
I strain to hear a sound

No one is in the house
I assure myself
Yet I feel a vice
On rapidly beating heart