When you are alone,
there are often those times
that the silence is pierced,
a heaviness in the air,
an oh, so slight pressure
upon the senses, the nerves, the mind.
A movement across the ceiling,
Trembling in the darken corners.
A calling, an awakening
In some forgotten part of psyche.
Hidden in the primitive recesses
of the distant ancestral past
it sleeps, waiting to be summoned.
Once again you are huddled around
a blazing fire the spirits dancing
upon the cavern walls, and you fear.
The neck becomes tight, painful,
the scalp prickly with anticipation.
You are now so very close to them.
All the past, all the lives lived,
can be held in a grain of sand,
the prism of a rain drop,
the gentle whisper of a breeze,
darkness of night, a shadow.
No god, no talisman, no shaman
can hold back the knowledge
the feeling in your bile filled gut,
that you are being watched.
Are we really alone?
Copyright: 2008, Donald Harbour
Donald Harbour Poetry 
I have had this feeling many a times. It is scary and it has left me with no energy.
“No god, no talisman, no shaman
can hold back the knowledge
the feeling in your bile filled gut,
that you are being watched.
Are we really alone?”
I would say no…
The title says it all.
what does one call it?
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I get this, but I also had to stop and think if I’ve felt this way and it occurred to me that I almost never am nor feel alone and therefore I don’t feel watched.
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