Wow! That's a powerful poem and I hope it helps you to process and deal with the feelings that still linger from those terrible times.
Can I draw your attention to some amazing parallels between your poem and another written three years ago by a teenager (then 15-16 as I recall) on the site? Here it is:
The night is quiet, still and clear,
And the moon casts its silvery pale
Over the home cradled on the forestís breast.
The breeze flits softly past the barn,
Happy and funny red by day but now
A slumbering purple giant squatting by the path.
Fields and pastures spread their blanket
Of swaying corn and grain over the rich black earth,
Awaiting the sun and a new day of work and play.
The night is the great black father:
Sleep my son!, it is time to renew.
Rest with your loved ones, secure
In their presence and safe in my enfolding arms.
The door grates and his eyes flash open,
His heart racing as the night swirling around him
Retreats and gives way to another: this is the dark.
The floorboard creaks as the dark shows the way,
Gloating and cruel, forcing the warm bed
To give up its offering of trembling and fear.
The dark sighs and blows its clammy whispers
Across his slender body, cozy covers and fuzzy pjs
Slipping away again: tight-shut eyes, tears, touched.
The dark is the great black beast:
Awake! It is time to submit and weep,
Time to feel the pain and know the shame,
Alone in the screaming silence you call life.
"The dark" is a huge theme for him too and it shows up frequently in his prose and verse. And it's interesting how the both of you see "the dark" in an almost personal way, as an knowing willing intruder.
This strikes me as really important. It's striking how, even as different guys with different experiences, in different parts of the world even, our feelings and other reactions still have so much in common. I myself recall, for example, lying terrified in my bed, afraid that tentacles would come up from underneath it to touch me.
Thanks for sharing your pain with us, my friend. But it's also an important step in your recovery.
Nobody living can ever stop me
As I go walking my freedom highway.
Nobody living can make me turn back:
This land was made for you and me. (Woody Guthrie)