No Place Like Alone Poem by SPC Kellaway

Days of solitude lost in a sea of anguish
I vent my feelings on every passing soul and spirit.
The wizard of my strength and will,
has lost his magic touch amidst a blizzard of indecision.

I stutter aimlessly like a motorcycle trying to start,
and failing, decide to push myself towards the hill,
directly to my very own destruction.

Deepening my ever present depression, I leap upon
the flowering trumpets of the yellow spring flowers,
pounding them to death for daring to smile.

Their crushed petals continue to stare back at me
from every peculiar angle and I lose my nerve and run,
screaming inwardly, to the safety of my domestic haven.

Entering I can sense the gaze of countless eyes from
every alcove and shelf, but no human is there to see my
panic. Every room echoes with the heavy sound of silence
and I shout my name to prove I am still living.

Then like a sign from God the phone rings and some contact
with humanity is heralded as if to answer some long lost call to
arms. Expectantly I push the green button of connection and
hear a recorded voice; a machine congratulating me on my success,
Grinning uncontrollably I hurl the dreaded bearer of good
news to its overdue demise.

Arguing with myself I see the unopened mail lying like basking
sharks upon the mat. Running over I look for some outward sign
of human kind upon the starched white paper; perhaps some
spidery script of a maiden aunt, inviting me to spend the Easter
at her Brighton home, or the perfumed scent of an earlier episode
in my life of peril on the sea of love.

But no, all are printed from a machine that signs, stamps and
even writes my name as if it knows me well. I shudder
violently and dropp them for fear I will be infected by the very
lack of human force that so directed these missiles of doom.

Staggering backwards I stumble bilaterally across two chairs
and sit troubled upon the floor, failing to understand the
consequence of my lonely vigil and slowly hour by hour
lose the will to live.