The Dark

Feedback is welcome.

It isn't the dark we fear
It's our own imagination
It's the sound of the wind
As it rushes through the leaves
It's the feather light touch
A shiver up our spines
It's the feeling of anticipation
The tightening in our chests
It's the deafening roar
The steady rush of our blood
The dark hides the distraction
And blurs what we think we know
The horrors in the closet
Or the ones under the bed
The terrors outside the window
Or the ones inside our heads