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T h i s...

This…thing… which visits me,
torturer so intimate
which knows me better than I know myself:
calls out all my resources
to transcend its pains;
changes always its approach
as if it’s quite determined to
leave no corner unexplored…
plays on my fears, my hopes, my dreams…:

what can I do but see it as
the hurdle (which I built myself?)
but failed to clear, the last time round;

have another try…see it from
the helicopter hovering overhead
which photographs, but does not feel
the rider or the horse; the going, or the race..

have another try…it is the way
to develop and refine your skills;
another day, another race; and

after it, serenity; detachment; laid-back day..
some hidden deal’s been struck
and time has witnessed it.

You too? You’ve met this thing
emerging from unreason to the light?
Join me in the stillness; for that
which this affliction plays with in disguise,

this must be love; this must be grace;
this must know its own origin;
all else shall pass; meanwhile,
the joke is this: it’s bearable…
if not, it wouldn’t work…

This poem a knowing smile;
black demon with an angel’s eyes.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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