From what fathomless pit did this blackness come.
To persecute, harass and numb
the senses so that feelings can't abide.
No, but rather would go off and hide.
What murk did it come from this Black that lies deep.
So deep in the soul where the pain makes me weep.
So real this pain yet beyond description.
So unreal yet felt with dread and trepidation.
Is it from within like tapping oil
that after so much driller's toil
wells up, spewing out it's thick black crude.
To summon up such a dark lugubrious mood.
Or from outside ready to enwrap and take it's toll.
It permeates and sinks down deep into the soul.
It kicks the legs away beneath the seat of motivation.
Declares moribund the dwelling place of innovation.
And like some loathsome child at suck.
It clings at the breast reaching deep to pluck
the very hope from dreams and aspirations.
And in it's place plant seeds of desperation.
With happy friends I exist in a dream.
In my mind there cries out a silent scream.
But nobody listens so nobody hears,
and there's no-one inside to wipe up the tears.
The Black takes the smiles from laughs, turns them hollow.
When they're gone they're betrayed by their empty echo.
A laugh that resembles a cymbal that clashes.
It irritates, incenses and then turns to ashes.
I look, I gaze, I stare but don't see.
The beauty that lies there is not for me.
It robs the soul of feeling, purpose, hope.
And takes as it's captive the ability to cope.
Surrounded as I am with things wanted and needed.
It turns to trash possessions I have accumulated.
Delight, long gone, disguised by Black's sick cunning.
It also chases off enjoyment sets it running.
And one by one it takes contents of life
that took so much time and toil and strife,
to build upon an unsteady foundation.
Only to face Black's crass condemnation.
The Black that overwhelms like a dark oppressive cloak.
Impedes the very breath of life, would have me choke.
Whilst entangled by this termagant oppressive garb,
Sharply blows keep raining in, ferocious in their barb.
The Black, devoid of colour, truly is an absence.
An emptiness, a nothingness, all embracing in it's presence.
I see, experience, occupy this nihility.
It's timeless indifference expugnes life's energy.
I am weary, I am tired, I want to lay my head.
To run away, to curl up tight and hide away from dread.
If only I could close my eyes and guarantee escape.
From Black's cerebral molestation and violent mental rape.
If only sleep, sound, would come.
If only slumber, deep, would numb.
Concealing me from this tortured mind.
So that unreality then I could find.
Then wake me when lament has passed.
When dreams themselves have been amassed.
When despair, so deep, gives way to hope.
Lest for the end, at last, I grope.
And if it is the end I find,
Somnambulating through this weary mind.
Please judge me kindly, not with disdain.
Lest you should ever feel my pain.
Jake Edwards.
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