Poet, and Musician from Dublin Ireland: born 1968, graduated UCD 1989, postgrad COCR 1990: worked in Advertising, Publishing and finally the family mu ..
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Panic? No. Unease; a queasy swell of uncertainty and discontent; heart beats faster, hard to concentrate, fidgeting and fretting.
Panic would tighten its grip till discomfort becomes physical pain. This is less than that, but bad enough.
Panic is for 3 am when no more taxis turn off the main road past my window. At that hour there are few excuses left and hard enough to lie even to myself.
But a thought is left that the next taxi will be the one despite a dull realisation that this is unlikely before dawn.
No, this is unease; the cautioning voice that warns you will be gone for this night. Where are your promises now?
Could you really lie so falsely (a rhetorical question, no answer necessary.) I adopt reasonble tones even in my head - where are you when you are supposed to meet me?
I call this rude (I mean torture) and thoughtless(which means scourge) ah the insincerity at the back of that I knew, the moment you rang and warned of delays.
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11/22/2009 2:29:32 AM. #.34# You Are Here:
Panic? No. by Geraldine Moorkens Byrne