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Simon Harrison

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Withdrawal

The trees moan that the wind is never still;
my mind spins out, spools like moonlit wire,
glistening fine far into the night;  the sill
beneath my hand is tense, my will
set stone against my own and worst desire.

The sky blows wild, loses its grip on the moon
and I am fear - locked in the cold dark
between stars and disparate hearts - thrown too soon
(Christ, too soon)  into a hell hewn
from my own human need, inert, no spark.

Here, where minds break and seconds are lingered
out like sick eternities, ticked, constant
where faith frays and the self itself’s endangered,
here I just cling, broken-fingered,
to the inside of a twisting instant.

Caught in the silver clench of the night sky
the far stars too austere to take my part,
how quickly, darkly, the dream of life can die,
too tired to scream, too wired to cry,
I can only wait it out, trust my heart.

Page(s) 26

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