I wrote this poem a few days ago. I tried to get an unusual rhythm going with the meter. The subject is abstract of course. It concerns the nagging doubts and fears that you don’t want to discuss, address or give name to. It’s as if by doing so, they may become more real. Though by suppressing them it makes them even more nebular and scary. You can’t win really. But the point is that they don’t win.
I start to sieve silt from my crowded house
There’s too many ghosts in this soft machine
They vie for attention
And beg for a mention
I feel myself helpless to contravene
The constant drip drip of these nagging thoughts
They won’t let me be – they just want their say
They whisper and rustle
They bluster and bustle
I try to submerge and keep them at bay
They beg to address me – engage me in chat
They just want importance. They want some form
They long to break free
To impersonate me
But can I hold out and weather this storm?
They quite rightly sense that I can’t set them loose
They pinch and creep up especially at night
I keep drowning them out
As they scream and they shout
I won’t let them out and cross into the light.
©L. M. Roberts
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