In the quiet months that followed,
I came to realise,
More was going on,
Than a wondering mind.
I found that each casual brush past,
Every shake of the hand,
Every pat on the back,
Revealed a new nightmare.
It began to make me wonder,
Just what I was seeing,
What were these visions?
And what did they mean?
Were they replays of dark acts,
Of secret deeds,
And evil moments,
Crimes which remain undetected?
Had I somehow gained the power,
To reveal their sins?
I couldn’t bring myself to believe,
So much crime went unseen.
Then were they representations of the soul?
Not acts, but desires,
Things that people had longed to do,
But never dared carry out?
It was certainly more believable,
But once again,
I refused to accept,
A seed of evil lies in every heart.
Were they then no more than my own fears?
A reflection not on them,
But on myself?
My paranoia played out before me?
It was a much more plausible explanation,
That it was all in my head,
That I was losing my mind,
And I feared it more than any other.