Incubus, The Terrible

Startled, I often rise up from sleep,
with my limbs trembling and sweat drenched
but my throat turned too sore and dry,
choked as if by the soot of fear,
in the throes of a tragic dream,
a dreadful and haunting nightmare,
borne by past follies or tomorrow’s loss,
too pale and numb and shaken to my core!
    

The former kinds keep chasing us
like the Furies in Orestes,
to avenge Clytemnestra’s death,
while the latter, always taunting
that we might lose our dearest things –
be it affluence, power, life, love or fame!
   

If we could stop worrying for the future
and let go of the past for once and all,
we could have savored the heavens right here
and set the world free from Incubus, the Terrible!

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