Ache Poem by Richard Blanch

Aching
Not severe pain
Just a dullness
Almost bland really; nothing to make
Trouble. Nothing but rusty
Reality playing its games
With bricks in the sand.
There is no gnashing, no wailing-
Just
Something unfortunately tame
Something altogether unstrained
Something tediously ingrained.

Would it could be wilder,
More awake, something to take
Trouble over. Then one
Could find a cave or a
Wilderness. Feign, at least, a snarl
Or two. But it is merely grinding
Greyly at my old bark.
At least the White Goddess
Stays away(thank you Mr Graves-
Something to be grateful for)
But the again and againness
Winds and snakes up the slack old rope
And leaves it swinging,
Without anything as vibrant as hope,
Vainly, vainly in the wind.