23 December 2013


Trepidation, perhaps, but certainly not a fear of the 
unknown; been there done that means we’re into a 
level of understanding where all but end-states are 
clear - and even that’s insanely predictable. Its just 
like a fetid air of expectancy cynically tainted 

Yet this is where the anxiety lurks like appellations 
of doom - that you’re able to sense sardonicism at 
twenty paces suggests you’re as much a part of it 
as accessory after the fact - or is this the rule truth 
uses for such dyspeptic observations 

Devoutly declaring ‘this isn’t my bag’ wont change 
tenure of ownership; sure, it isn’t yours, in no way 
could you be guilty of having put it there, but it’s in 
the middle of a concourse of dreams shared least 
publicly yet visited most in hours of need 

Maintaining your silence deems the lesser evil, an 
observation as discrete as closing eyes blinded by 
glare from an obvious cataclysmic anomaly; ‘don’t 
you see it?’ isn’t the right question, if it exists - it is 
what it is because you’re there

© 28 November 2013, I. D. Carswell