the light on

the child, afraid of the dark,
crying. says it's the wind,
the thunder, the hidden that
lies outside and inside,
that can't be seen, the unknown,
that stirs his imagination.
you understand his fear.
it never truly leaves,
you want to tell him,
you learn to pretend
to be brave as time moves on.
you say none of this though,
and instead leave the hall light on
for the both of you.