The Feeling Of The Blues Poem by Nicholas Grass

I feel an oncoming of the white-weary blues
It smells of the smoke of a once-present fire,
Now dissipated,
Long gone from its days of dancing between the trees
It tastes of the lonely leftovers,
At the end of the New Year’s celebration,
Where one is hit by the unsuspected onslaught of fresh paperwork
It sounds quiet and discrete,
Like the tiny squeak of a frightened mouse in the bushes
It feels deep,
A wound that cannot heal with bandages,
With no true medical cure,
The blues hold on to you,
With their unquenchable ache.