A Poetic Essay

Vol.2

Paranoia.

An incubus dances up to, alongside and then with your reverie, and now, so introduced, into your thoughts!

“ You’re no good, it’s over. You’re finished, forget all about it. Your heart will stop. You’re going mad ”…

It’s too late for your mind to stop the welter of this mesmeric mantra,
Now that it’s after ‘In time’, you are to be interned faster,
By this infamously fabled master.
As you sit there, in your centrifugally enforced cell,
Pressed into your chair, as if forced from an impending hell,
In which you are to be spun asunder,
Until your seated soul slides out from under,
To go amid the lurid, unfair-ground’s whirling, waltzer’s whirls,
That are dealt indiscriminately to you, in great unasked for hurls,
From above either side and behind, by this sabled, demonic dancer of the darkest kind!

Whose charming influences, with sleight of feet,
Makes better the impolite mesmerisms that your soul has had to greet.

The bar across, onto which you hold, weighs as if cast from polemic gold,
But it does not quite reach enough to lay a solid hold,
Nor is it wide enough to block the draughty cold,
Or cover your spinning view,
From the skull, from which your soul has slew.

On which pointedly spinning and sickening note,
You realise, after looking across from the inside of your rapidly rotating float,
That you’ve left your cross and four-leaved clover in the other coat,
As the one who is over evil incarnate starts to uncloak!

Your soul is now dancing face to face with the devil in an eye lock,
Try turning your head and your soul’s eyes stay firmly fixed, to its pernicious partner’s clock,
Stuck there like a midnight hour’s tick, waiting for the returning pendulum’s kick,
To release its swing, re-cross and bring back the sound, of time’s eternal tock.

Only life’s work and the sunshine smiles of angels can mask the calling of such an approaching black flock,
That, when they are darkly seen, mark athwart a vast and distant, grey hung sky, which now seems to lie,
Not that far behind!

Yet through the aforementioned toils of our labours and the millings of many a daily grind,
Never once forgetting either, the occasional happy appearances of fateful, angelic solar countenances,
Smiling their heart-felt and warming light, to soothe such tormented souls, as was your self’s, own and only plight.

Such physical endeavours and auspicious, spiritually uplifting sightings as these just mentioned,
Forgive all unpleasantries, snagging to forfend sable roquelares unfastenings,
And even enduring wicked tinnitus sounds, lying, pictured there in Your mind.

~N.W.

Nigel Wilson, Page 67 of 100, 04/05/2002

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