There is a feeling that infiltrates my soul

Every now and again.

A feeling that leaves the edges cold

And the insides spent.

A feeling that closes doors and shades

Both inside and out

So light and warmth of the bright day

Can’t quench the drought.

This feeling steals in on a whisper.

It never, ever shouts:

It’s quiet and stealthy, an unseen blister

You can do without.

A feeling that builds in silent expansion

Like a bubble of gum

To demand the most extravagant ransom

Knowing you can’t pay the sum.

It’s a blanket of storm clouds in November

That stays still for weeks.

A feeling that smothers and puts out the ember

Making the strong weak.

A feeling that corrodes a steel determination

Leaving it for rust

A feeling that brings to its knees a nation:

In God they trust?