The Bad Man’s Knocking

The Bad Man’s Knocking

In the quiet of the night,

a sound creeps near,

a whisper of shadows,

a flutter of fear.

The moon hides its face

behind clouds painted gray,

as the bad man is knocking,

he’s come out to play.

With boots on the porch,

a heavy, slow tread,

each thud on the wood

is like words left unsaid.

He carries the stories

of sorrow and dread,

the chill in the air speaks

of things left for dead.

The wind it is howling,

the trees start to sway,

what secrets he carries,

he won’t give away.

A flicker of lanterns,

a rustle of leaves,

in the silence, one wonders

what the darkness believes.

The doors are all bolted,

the windows shut tight,

but the bad man keeps knocking,

deep into the night.

With courage a treasure

and fear at the door,

we’ll stand till the dawn

and breathe free evermore.

The bad man was a dream,

and now he has gone,

close your eyes, little darling,

let sleep carry on.