The thought of it

It’s a laughable thought, at first, 

like learning a new language 

or deep sea diving. 
 

It arrives and leaves, 

perfectly natural, but strange,

the rise and fall of ocean tides.

 

As the thought hardens into an idea

the groomed mind denies consultation,

fashioning fantasy from the achievable.

 

Soon the frequency of ‘the thought’

comes accompanied by scenario, 

with mental pictures thrown in to explore. 

 

I blamed winter before but it’s May now 

and only stronger grows my desire

with the burnishing of invention. 

 

That’s the thing about fear;

relief depends on its overcoming,

one way or the other. 

 

A chortle has become a silent sigh

so many days playing around with it

that ‘it’ seems almost plausible.

 

Substance abuse only goes so far

and work just puts it off;

after all, charges must eventually be paid.

 

I look forward to sleep

like a freezing cold tramp,

anything to stop the shivers.

 

When I wake up to a new day

it’s there again

that infernal light I cannot bear.

 

My eyes won’t look up any more,

they are drawn to the ground,

where I see bottle tops as worthless coins.

 

Watching old films guarantees tears;

Taxi Driver, About a Boy, 

Kind Hearts and Coronets.

 

But it won’t go away, or even awry,

the endless horror of life cause enough

to welcome an invitation to peace.