James Smyth Poet Free verse

Comfort

I've had dark nights of the soul. Oh yes. 
Thousands. 
I have searched and waited and waited and searched 
But. 
Only a muffled pang
They teach me nothing
Other than; 

There is a Deficit of Comfort. 

Maybe for all.
Maybe not. 
The entwined limb pushed away; the too hot blanket cast aside... 
Merely a demonstration of the temporary satiation regarding
That same paucity

That same Deficit of Comfort

I lay right there...yes. 
Right. There. On that strange, dank precipice, and wondered ... 
Still those dark nights had no truth to impart other than that they were wasted, lonesome hours 

So why, then? 

Alas, I know not 
But am now sure that the purpose of this travail is Yes! to surely seek, but also to be comforted.

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