The Darkness Comes

Sadly, I am no stranger to the darkness.

I don’t invite it into my home,

Or ask it come sit a spell on my porch. 

It comes by when it damn well pleases,

And leaves when it’s good and ready.

The darkness comes upon me quietly,

Spreading itself over me like a thick blanket.

Before I know it I’m choking and gagging,

looking for an out of the way place to hide,

fending off the loneliness and despair.

My only defense is to roll up into a ball,

A fetal position of fear and foreboding.

Waiting for a reprieve from its dreadful wrath,

A deliverance from its loathsome torture,

A pardon from its endless grief and agony.

Those around me look at me with sad eyes,

Wanting to help, but at a loss for what steps to take,

Concerned and confused over my deathly silence,

Fearful and anxious for my need for space,

Handcuffed by their apprehension to offer aid.

The darkness will move on just like before,

But not before exacting another pound of flesh,

And notching another scar in my fragile psyche.

The darkness comes when it damn well pleases

And leaves when it’s good and ready. 

--Ken Ferguson--