“
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
