Anecdotally Evident

Feeling-the-Pull

Feeling the Pull

Growling ache,

Awakes slow but sure,

She fidgets, restless,

Walks the floor.

The cold moon eyes her,

No sympathy.

Crisp wind cools,

But doesn’t quench,

The thirst she feels for thee.

Her body sweats,

Her clammy skin crawls,

Her mind dances madly,

She exists in thrall.

She flings her head back,

And screams at the sky,

She can cave in and drown,

Or suffer unslaked,

Unable to die.

One cannot show will,

At the start of the race.

The test of the soul,

Is the weakness you face.

When she falters in night,

And would grab any straw,

She grows only in power,

When her need is so raw.

I am weak,

I feel slow,

Shame overwhelms me,

But still, I say “no.”

Paula Lyons, MD

4/6/2002