Unheeded

How cold the silence of the unheeded cry

How long the night of the sleepless sleeper

It is the misery of doubt, the burden of fear that

steals reason.

As the nights and days blend, the mind turns, finally, on itself

And from there there is no escape save the slow-turn clamp of unreason

 

4 Responsesso far.

  1. Mark Prisco Mark Prisco says:

    i get that too, john.. hope you’re sleeping well now, and feeling better

  2. john keast john keast says:

    Thank you. Have real problem with insomnia and wrote this after three night with no sleep. Little doubts became huge fears. Really is torture.

  3. Mark Prisco Mark Prisco says:

    i agree. lovely poem, John.

  4. peterlebaige peterlebaige says:

    I feel those screws, John. That’s a fine turn of phrase, ‘the slow-turn clamp of unreason’, have been caught in that vice once too often to forget. You have left the source of that ‘doubt’ nicely unsaid, as in the end it’s the ‘doubt’ per se that’s important, not what it has in its teeth!

Leave a Reply