The Speed of Pain
Pain has a speed all its own.
Unpredictable, variable,
dark.
Oh yes, dark.
A blinding darkness.
Cruel. Devilish.
Often masked,
often distracted,
Hungry. Cruel.
Did I say Cruel?
Yes, always that,
Stealing the soul,
Stealing memories
of everything
except
the pain.
Drug it. Deny it. Push it back.
go ahead. Try.
You will fail.
The more you dam it up,
the more powerful it becomes,
Waiting
To roar from its cage
larger and more untamable
than before.
A beast. Insidious,
far more about theft
than murder,
Yet murderous still,
Never controlled,
there is no peace until
You sit with it a while,
have tea and chat,
Let it become your friend,
Accepted.
Loved even,
embraced into oblivion.
About this poem
Chronic pain is the worst, be it of body or soul.
The painting is one of mine: “Blue Pain”.
Tom
