Contest Entry - wallflower_r  (also in Contests Book)

Sometimes, around midnight,
when the moon is high,
casting her lunar glow,
over the slumbering countryside,
a suggestion, a sound,
an eerie implication,
of them.

Often goes unnoticed,
by the resting masses,
however, for the moonlight wanderers,
who find repose,
more difficult,
the signs are there,
the sounds are clear,
it's them.

Ephialtes for the conscious,
an insomniacs dream,
can't be forgotten or resolved,
by simply waking.
For when the nightmares come,
there's no escaping,
them.