He feels it every day, usually when alone

untouched and unspoken to

but often in a crowd as well

It comes with an ache

tugging at the heart

 

It pulls him into the darkness

Thoughts of suicide come and drift by

for another time

Feelings of dread cover him in a mild terror

that only he can perceive

There are days when the ache doesn’t come too often

It’s a time when there’s a strong focus for the day

and events take over

like a smooth ointment on an open sore

Even then there’s always an uncontrolled hidden aggression

coming from within

It’s like Tourette’s

A sudden flash or outburst without his control

Most of the time he can cover this, but sometimes not

The receivers never understand

They do not suffer and cannot relate

to the grieving undercurrent in front of them

They make a fun

He shies away

There’s no one there to help him

as he cannot tell anyone of the real source

No friend at the pub can wash this away

No one can discover the hidden dread he carries

Darkness comes and with it the dark dog returns

to stare in his eyes

On a bad day a drink is taken followed by others

Non of them help

All they do is increase the peaks of terror

that he feels driving him to the edge

he has managed to control this

He only partakes when he has good company

The garden helps; the digging, the hoeing, the watering

It takes him back to a quiet peacefulness

that focuses him on creation

This loneliness can be too long though

and the ache returns

as a memory comes randomly to mind

 

He bears this out with aggressive attention to his work

He manages to tail it off as a call from the house

begs him in for tea

He puts the thoughts away

and gathers the proceeds of his work to show inside;

where they think he’s fine

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