It's Only Darkness

Sometimes I think it's best just to let the poem speak for itself. This is one of those times ... although I'm tempted to say something about so-called Daylight Saving Time ...

I always have a comment or two ... mainly to myself ... as I make the rounds ... twice a year ... setting the clocks back ... or forward ... and back ... then forward ... no, back ...

My usual thought is ... why do we have to fiddle with the clocks? Why, if we're so intent on "saving time" ... can't we just adjust our work schedules ... to have a work schedule for the summer months ... another schedule for the rest of the year?

Wouldn't that work just as well? Or would we not be able to remember ... Oh, now I report in at seven, instead of eight ... ?

I usually end up commenting ... to myself ... that it's all just a ruse to provide farmers with more time to play golf in the afternoons (and I'm kidding about that, kidding!).

Don't get me wrong ... I'm all for saving energy ... especially when it's costing us all an arm and a leg ...

But I'm not going there today ... because ... well, actually, the poem isn't about Daylight Saving Time ...

The poem:

IT'S ONLY DARKNESS

There's such an absence

of light this morning,

it's like scaling a wall

of darkness as I rise

slowly on familiar stairs.

My feet seek supporting

places, my hand searches

for a railing I know

is there, but still hiding

from my straining eyes.

I’m a child again, bad dreams

still haunting me while my

sleep-numbed brain struggles

to convince me there’s nothing

to fear: It’s only darkness.

My hand reaches for a hand

no longer there and I pause,

listening, waiting, almost

expecting a touch, a word

to guide me in my climb.

© 2003

(published in ICON, Spring issue, 2003)

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Today's word: darkness