FEELING SORRY FOR MYSELF, 1999

What hell is this
Whose depths I plumb?
What darkness sits
Enfolding me, gripping me?
Alone I am, nothing in common.
The box for company, voices
Speaking, impersonal,
But still voices here,
Filling the silence with
Their inanities. Tonight
They do not reach, do not divert.
Alone I am. This life is not
What I had hoped for, longed for,
Two lives as one sharing
All. Instead, two separate
Lives coming together
Now and then, talking of
Michaelangelo.

JEB

For more information on these poems, contact edmund@balnaves.org