I’ve seen once or twice
at the end of my day;
at the end of my bed—
a pervious figure, rain-clouded grey
with a flat brim Stetson hat on his head.
Indeed, a strange silhouette,
so hard to make out;
even harder to forget.
And stranger still
was that not a shout could spill forth,
nor even a peep
would try and seep from my lips.
These limbs as fallen trees—
lumbering numbness that seizes;
grips me in my half-sleeping unease.

And there I can feel him,
a twin red dot laser sight
sizing me up—six feet away
and maybe the selfsame in height;
this crepuscular being;
this beast of the night.

But wait—is this merely all that he does?
To stand there and stare with intentions vicarious.
Perhaps he is lonesome, or maybe yearning—
for even a spectre too is love-deserving.

So together we gazed,
not uttering a word—
serene there I laid.
And unphased—
despite all I had heard,
I was not afraid.

© Joseph Chin

#UrbanLegends

#thehatman #hatman #dream #sleep #sleepparalysis