The unknown can be terrible

Whether there is a set deadline or not;

Whether you have an answer

Or just a pseudo-answer to calm you.

The unknown can be terribly sombre,

So that you think

Of lively, brighter memories

Back when life was simpler,

With unconditional love,

Because everything can be terrible

Confronting the unknown.

 

You think of the walks in the night

Sparking conversation about issues,

Long hours at work,

Experimenting and socializing,

And the thunderous howling of 

the wind just outside the window

With needy desire because you did not perceive the present.

The unknown can be

Just terrible.

 

And the unforgotten howling of the wind,

Contribute to nothing

But general questioning.

Wind, or the concept,

Is in fact reproduced,

And made from multiple factors

outside your control.

You yourself had flapped 

your wings in uncontested directions,

Ignorant,

Incoherent,

Oblivious to the hurricane,

Unhappy to be challenged,

Closed to all who dare enter,

Sulking in your pride

Disheveled, lost.

 

You remain isolate,

Darkness fell, collapse;

The thunderous howling of the wind 

growing evermore silent,

Whispers jumping into your ears,

Blowing air in your eyes,

Inflicting deep sadness

In your veins.

You contemplate the unknown,

An idea linked to the future

By a shadowy path to…

 

Anyway.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

One should from time to time.

Well, anyway,

You’re here.

 

Your chest moves up and down,

Like a fleshy balloon,

The situation constant,

Like an undisturbed pond,

While you continue to sit.

Nothing changes but

Your neurons making connections.

Your head aches.

You jump to conclusions

With the force of infinity,

A void of normality.

 

You reflect

With mental clarity.

Your desire has become a necessity.

You reflect with your past experiences,

To a moment of endurance.

Everything you think now,

All of it: endurance.

 

_____

 

“You must trust or believe in people or else life becomes impossible.”

- Anton Chekhov