Being Poetic While in Panic

While the experience of a panic attack or the onset itself can be frightening and painful at times (when it becomes psychomatic with muscle contractions), there's a poetic side to it.

I'm not being philosophical, but literal.

I realised that the 'energy' generated from a state of high anxiety can be channeled to creative work. I realised that by 'accident' as I attempted to write and paint during such a state to 'distract' my system from a non-existent 'threat'.

However, when the 'anxiety' is consumed through the creative process, my 'works' tend to be unfinished... this was the most recent...

I SIT AND WAIT (16 October 2006)

I sit and wait
I feel the wind linger
I see a glow in the distance
I hear a rumble at my feet
I savour a whisk of fresh serenade

Oh what a whisper I envision
A scent of imagination
A shimmering ordination

From the horizon the glow beckons
The siren calls to my addiction
What of my affliction
Or is it a proposition

I sit and wait
I feel the wind flutter
I see a glow no more
I hear a grumble at my feet
I regurgitate a stale palisade

Oh what a scream I see
A pungent trepidation
A blinding supplication

From the horizon the glow sickens
The siren blows to my attention
What of my predilection
Or is it a delusion

I sit and wait
I feel the wind no more
I see a glow no more
I hear a trickle at my feet
I swill a drop of marmalade

Oh what deafening sight
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