Midnight Pain Poem by Doug Stewart

There was a time before pain
When rare, when booze or women
Or a good ganga joint would relieve
Would repudiate, would vanquish
Pain

There is a difference, though, between
Heart pain of the sorrow brand, pillow
Tears, failure fueled, whatever the cause
Time and Mr. Jack* always managed
Pain

But this. This is virulent and physical and
Intermittent. Shakespeare’s slings and arrows
Fired from ambush and with cruel intent.
Crossbow bolts aimed to inflict maximum
Pain

Midnight painpills allow brief moments of
Unconsciousness, but not sleep, no never
Wrapped in Morpheus’ arms sleep. The
Followers of Hippocrates intone “neuropathy, ”
Pain

As if by naming a thing it’s aurally healed,
“Thanks, we’ll bill you, ” for what I know not.
Apollo brings some relief, dragging the sun
Through the sky, but when his chariot is gone...
Pain

Still, I smile more often than not and it bests
Slicing an ear off for art or love, or ending like
Edgar or Sylvia. Art the only rational path for pain...
Creativity lives in the black and red recesses of
Pain.

*”Mr. Jack” is a local euphemism for Jack Daniels