The muck is tugging at my feet
Back to this low-another defeat
I see the blackness before my eyes
Terror and worry-I feign it with lies
Trapped in a cage like a jailed thief
Pounding on bars-there is no relief
I try all the pathways to heaven's door
I stand there empty on a concrete floor
Vision fails me, I cannot see
I cannot hear, I cannot smell, there's only me
And the darkened shroud that holds me close
In the jaded crypt that's called morose
How can I get to the place in the light?
How did I fall to this shivering plight?
Why the mirror image of the previous day?
I have to learn to not lose my way
The only escape is to sit and stand
And await calm winds from a healing land
The stasis of helplessness ruling the day
Erased by time-please come my way
Very good images of the heaviness of depression and how to cope when it rears its ugly old head.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is an honest account of this tragic illness that seems to take hold of so many, however it still has the power to shed a tiny silver line of hope for it was mentioned that you could still look for that better day, Brilliantly done, Love Duncan