It was the Sound of Darkness

In the quiet of the night

the darkness begins its low

rumble, a dark sound rising

from the floor beneath me, on cue,

signaled by my parents turning out

their bedroom light, the last light

lit, as they climb into their beds,

leaving me alone in my room across the hall;

shadows begin to form in the far corners

and the darkness darkens around me.

This low sound the darkness makes, rising,

is soft at first, almost comforting,

the thrumming of a heartbeat, barely heard,

but it deepens quickly, breaking open

the quiet of the night, growing louder,

louder still, a wave gathering force

and crashing on the shore, a storm

rising, thunder and lightning, a thundering crack

to find me lying here, alone and scared,

the covers pulled tight to my chin, clutching

even tighter beneath the covers my stuffed

bear, Fred, my constant companion much worn

these dark nights alone, clutching me, even now,

in the darkness, being brave, trying to, in the low

rumble that it makes, the sound of darkness rising.