The Pounding

Free verse poem about running from the truth & things we try and do to stifle it.

There's a pounding at the door. As you lie awake night after night in bed, the heavy hand of your conscience hammers your head. It's telling you to get up and it won't let up. As time passes the beat steadily builds but your tired soul still can't find the will to answer; although you can't help but hear the knocking that's so clear, yet deafening to the ears. So you just lie there trying to refrain from tipping up your flask and letting it all drain until the pounding stops and you can regain the silence you've been unable to obtain. Yet you realize it'd all be in vain because even when you're alone there's no peace in your brain and the constant banging almost drives you insane and no amount of therapy could ever ease the pain and there's no way to explain why you entertain the arcane nonsense that keeps you in disdain. But no matter; there's still a pounding at the door and another shot of vodka won't help you to ignore. Sometimes sleep is the escape but you can't be sure because lately it invades your dreams and there's even more to endure. It's still pounding; incessantly hounding and it ricochets through your mind almost rebounding. So there's no way to pretend that any amount of whiskey, weed, men, nor sin could ever begin to mend what's broken within and you realize the one knocking is your friend but you're too afraid to get up and extend a hand to let it in.