That nagging voice

I watch.
I wait.
Stoutly.
But less hasty.

For in that recess -
The place where darkness reigns
I hear the spoken, choral sounds of

NOTHING.

It never abates.

Never empties.

Doesn’t give quarter on any front
despite all the books
and the months
of talks meant to make peace.

It ends when it ends.

Truly.

But this is not a “dream seek”.

Not a shortcut to a
Wife
Children
Solaced sleep

It’s a part that scratches
like an untended scab.
Never healing,
never passed.
It’s a box-tick to complete.

A reminder that what’s wrong
Is what’s the aching -
Is what the gong sounds
are calling to…

Something darker
Something new
Something old
Very blue.