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#Poem Au Naturel Angst of an Athazagoraphobic by April Windbow

May 14, 2016

Au Naturel Angst of an Athazagoraphobic


 At three I call up to remind that we are meeting at seven

At five again.


At twenty to seven to tell, I am already there

At twenty past seven to tell, come right away if you really care.


At eight to tell, come or just go to hell

(Though that is not what I mean… I mean well,

Come … come… come your heart is where my heavens dwell)


At ten, you come and we are together for two hours

Eating chocolates, smelling flowers,

Reading, singing, two lost lovers.


At two I call to tell, separation is immeasurable sorrow

We’ve got to meet the very coming morrow.


At thirteen past three to confirm

For a day’s longing is a long long term!


At eight to tell, I am missing you already

So tomorrow, don’t be late, be ready.


At ten when I call, you avoid my call

I try hard, but end up banging my head on the wall.
At every two minutes past ten I kept calling again and again

How could you have missed my call then!


At eleven you tell me it’s been twenty hours you haven’t slept

I too try to sleep, but fear that nightmare wherein you left.


At three am, just like the day before, I wake with that same nightmare

Where not me, but somebody else, receives your love, your care.


At the lonely loft, there… upper side of my mind, dust soils blessed things

Particles of phobia settle fading faint my faith in fellow beings

Fear manifests as fidgety affections and care forged as wrong doings

I am a rocket propelled towards doom by my own feelings.


Copyright © April Windbow

Image courtesy: Pixabay


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