"Sometimes, When Tired Agoraphobes Would Dream To Roam"

“ Sometimes, When Tired Agoraphobes Would Dream To Roam “

07/02/12

To my very, very dearest friends, supportive, and ever kind, and to the most loyal, caring readers…a gentle, sad, though accurate lament,

I

Sometimes, when tired agoraphobes would dream to roam,

to lift one’s eyes beyond the front door’s edge,

or, peering ever past the curtains of a window ledge,

to try to think of being somewhere besides home.

II

His traveling thoughts, would not for one second hesitate

To throw things willy-nilly in a bag or two

In rushing to an unknown destination, new,

except to seek a long-time friend, in another State.

III

To fly into their older arms to be reclaimed;

for who would but laugh at now greying hair

that once—perhaps—seemed thick and fair.

And of the faces lined with time, no one need be ashamed.

IV

To find that years of passing time had disappeared,

Though old stories now seem fresh and new;

While they pause—perhaps—to share a drink or two

and, laughing, find nothing to be feared.

V

Why does that sudden sight reflect regret,

For in those passing decades, other lives were found, and other friends.

And that subsequent feeling of discomfort grows, and sends

The humbled Agoraphobe into a frightening realization, and yet,

VI

He had—perhaps—thrown measured caution all away,

While thinking,” Was I stupid, reckless, wanting, needing,

And so, confused, and lost, and almost pleading?”

“ How can I make up my goodbyes, all fond intentions—now in shards—and stay?”

VII

The journey back is but as silent as a sigh.

The now-encroaching masses causes pain

There’s too much noise and too much wind,

“I must get safely home, for this resounding anxiety demands returning hours fly.

VIII

Upon arriving home, the house—thank God still seems unchanged,

Except, for the astute Agoraphobe, a clouded layer of dust.

No matter, for the all-consuming quiet is a must,

And, never will such a headlong flight be arranged.

IX

Though then rooms look somewhat greyer, everything still seems the same.

There’s medicine, and comfort here,

And to the true Agoraphobe these things provide some cheer.

Content—briefly—to only see beyond the curtain, or the door, and there…ever most content to there remain.

End

Please always know I love you,

‘Zahc’/Charles