This story is not
Of euphoria round
The room, dancing, waltzing
Making musical sounds.

I never experience
Such nobilities
I hide from the lights
With irritability.

Children I comfort
I warm them up well
With long reaching arms
Drawing up the stairwells.

I feed on the dark
On the blustery night
On the turmoiled soul
On the merchant’s poor plight.

I breathe in the mouths
Of those all alone
I speak to the men
Who’s thoughts do bemoan.

I rustle the leaves
I slam open doors
I yell in the dark
Bring thoughts drawn on lore.

The hare sees my face
Through the eyes of the bear
Man’s tears wet my hands
Through his last minute’s share.

I am birthed to the dark
I am fed by the mere
I have thirst for emotions
Thirst, now you hear!

You all here have seen me
We’ve all been acquainted
Yet you flee when you feel me
From the mem’ries I painted.

Why do you do this
My humans, my friends?
I merely am helping
In the work that stress sends.

You think me as useless
You think me as dumb!
You shun me, ignoring
My soft, gradual hum.

So wiser this makes you
Wiser: indeed!
For without me, without me
Your hearts will be freed.

Braden Savage
The Darkest of Emotions
11-3-2014