Sometimes it emerges from within me,
Like an unconscious urge, an instinctive bent.
A mere wisp of thin air might send it back,
But other times... other times it requires effort.

To suppress is painful, yet without such an act,
Consequences, considerations of possibility are beyond me.
And yet fear does all the work,
It never reaches the surface.

But despite best efforts, circumstances can conspire,
And, caught unawares, it emerges to meet my surroundings.
Sensing, perhaps, accommodating environs,
Or merely an escape amidst distraction? 

Whether from the deep, dank darkness of a winter night,
To the bloodied horizons of an autumn twilight.
In the freshness of a spring morning, where each breath drinks the dew,
Or under the dry, languid heat of a midday summer sun.

It is there,
Casting itself upon others with a fury that I can no longer restrain.
So I sit meekly, following its every movement,
Quaking in the face of a power beyond me.

Others find solace in the energy, the substance of this matter,
And embrace, eagerly, as much as they can.
Singing wistfully that perchance one day they will enjoy such fruit,
And devour while they might, what is free to be had. 

They claim to envy a spirit that others will never have,
Without knowing the trouble it brings.
Though, 'tis true, release brings a brief calm, a satisfaction of sorts,
It is matched in strength by the numb pain of dread. 

As it floats and drifts in flight with every breeze and surges forward upon every wave,
I am disconsolate.
For each outburst I cannot contain,
Brings the reality of my fears to bear.

Though that urge in me always been inherent,
To share has never been.
So again it emerges, from pen to paper, I have no choice in this,
Soothed by composition, but ever scorned by uninvited expectation.

Ezy Reading was late this week thanks to two weddings and Anzac Day... Aspirin, anyone?