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
x
wee kingdom writing 